


Gratia Plena

by navree



Series: Ave Trilogy [1]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Detective Noir, Film Noir, I'm the living embodiment of that azalea banks tweet, Kidnapping, Multi, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Slow Burn, the independent ass bitch one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-02-06 17:12:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 38
Words: 84,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12822204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/navree/pseuds/navree
Summary: He would have cared about finding the kids regardless, but something about the situation was only making him care more and more as time went on.Private detective C.C. Tinsley is tasked with finding five children who have disappeared mysteriously after a fire. The situation proves more complex than previously anticipated.





	1. The Verified Information

**Sodder Fire Report, December 25th**

At 8:45 PM, Mrs. Jennie and Mr. George Sodder allege to have put their nine children to bed for the night. The children were: Sylvia (2), Marion (17), John (23), George Jr. (16), Maurice (14), Martha (12), Louise, (9). Jennie the younger (8), and Betty (5). Mr. and Mrs. Sodder then allege that they both stayed up for approximately twenty minutes after this, during which Mrs. Sodder answered a telephone call from an unknown third party. After this, the two retired. Mrs. Sodder alleges hearing what sounded like a thump and then a canister rolling at around 9:25 PM. She alleges to have smelled smoke five to ten minutes later, putting the preliminary start of the fire between 9:25 and 9:35 PM. Mrs. Sodder alleges that she woke the already sleeping Mr. Sodder, and then went to wake the four children sleeping downstairs (Sylvia, Marion, John, George Jr.) and got them all outside. Mr. Sodder, meanwhile, alleges that he attempted to climb the stairs to the upper floor to find the five remaining children (Maurice, Martha, Louis, Jennie the younger, Betty), but that the flames had already blocked the stairwell. Mr. Sodder alleges that, once he himself had gotten outside, he was unable to find a ladder to go up to the upper floor. Nor, he alleges, was he able to start up either of his coal truck, in order to use them as a means to get to his children. Both Sodder parents additionally allege that, despite making early calls to the fire department, firefighters only arrived on the scene seven hours after Mrs. Sodder says she awoke. No reason for this has yet to be given.

At this time, preliminary reports suggest that the fire was caused due to faulty wiring in the house, which may have sparked and set the furniture ablaze. None of the five "upstairs children" has been seen since the fire began, and there were no rescue efforts made by any of the Sodders beyond Mr. Sodder's initial attempts. Nor were any attempts made by the firefighters when they arrived on the scene. Preliminary reports suggest that these five children are dead, either due to smoke inhalation or burns suffered if they attempted to navigate through the flames. The fire appears to have burned between the hours of 9:30 PM to 5 AM, making the total around seven and a half hours. It is estimated by the fire chief (who is conducting a separate investigation) that anyone not outside of the house within the first few minutes of combustion would not have survived. 

**Sodder Children Death Certificates, December 26th**

  * Maurice Sodder, age fourteen years. Died on December the 24th-25th, between the hours of 10 PM and 5 AM. Cause of death is unknown. Presumed to be smoke inhalation or severe burns. Body not found.
  * Martha Sodder, age twelve years. Died on December the 24th-25th, between the hours of 10 PM and 5 AM. Cause of death is unknown. Presumed to be smoke inhalation or severe burns. Body not found.
  * Louis Sodder, age nine years. Died on December the 24th-25th, between the hours of 10 PM and 5 AM. Cause of death is unknown. Presumed to be smoke inhalation or severe burns. Body not found.
  * Jennie Sodder (younger), age eight years. Died on December the 24th-25th, between the hours of 10 PM and 5 AM. Cause of death is unknown. Presumed to be smoke inhalation or severe burns. Body not found.
  * Betty Sodder, age five years. Died on December the 24th-25th, between the hours of 10 PM and 5 AM. Cause of death is unknown. Presumed to be smoke inhalation or severe burns. Body not found.



**Missing Persons Report, December 30th**

Filed by Mr. George Sodder and Mrs. Jennie Sodder. Couple alleges that their children (listed under the Sodder Children Death Certificates) did not perish in the December 24th-25th fire as previously believed by the police and fire department. Mr. Sodder alleges that he was recently threatened by a man he believed to be a life insurance salesman, who made allusions to hurting the Sodder children, and referenced fire as a means of revenge. Mr. Sodder refuses to elaborate on what enraged this supposed life insurance salesman, nor give any subsequent details. Couple additionally refuses to provide additional evidence, stating that they've given the relevant information to the fire department. We are at present unable to determine whether or not the children are in fact missing, and worthy of being the subject of a "Missings" announcement.

**Artemus Ogletree Arrest Form, January 10th**

Artemus Ogletree, male, dark hair, dark eyes, pale skin, slender. Individual works as a private detective. Police were called to investigate what appeared to be a domestic disturbance between Ogletree and [REDACTED]. While there are no signs of physical violence, it was clear to the arresting officers that Ogletree was the primary aggressor, and was thus taken to jail. Officers described the scene as "messy", with multitudes of shattered and broken objects, as well as a damaged map appearing to link a variety of things that remain seemingly unrelated. Ogletree has declined to ask for either a lawyer or a phonecall, choosing to wait to be formally charged with a crime. Arresting officers see no reason to do so. [REDACTED] has declined to press charges.

 _Footnote_ : Ogletree appears to have been contracted by Mr. and Mrs. Sodder (see Sodder File) in an attempt to locate the supposedly missing five "upstairs children".

**Missing Persons Report, January 17th**

Filed by Ricardo Goldsworth. Goldsworth alleges that Mr. Artemus Ogletree (who was arrested for domestic disturbance previously this month) has not been seen for a multitude of days. Goldsworth alleges that he and Ogletree were meant to meet with each other on January 12th for drinks, and that Ogletree never arrived. Goldsworth asserts that this is unusual behavior for Ogletree, who would never abandon anyone at a function without providing some excuse either beforehand or after the fact. Additionally, Ogletree was meant to meet with a "street informant", according to Goldsworth's allegations. This informant apparently never got the chance to meet with Ogletree. Goldsworth believes it has something to do with the case Ogletree was currently investigating (see January 10th arrest form for hypothesis). No signs yet as to whether Ogletree left town or was forced to, either through coercion or abduction. No reason to believe this is tied to sinister motivation.

 

* * *

 

"OK, so I have some questions."

"Don't you dare-"

"Why did he attempt to park not one, but two coal trucks next to a burning building?" Ryan resisted the urge to throw something at Shane's oversized head. "Like, does he not know that coal burns?"

"That's nice," Ryan commented. "A man loses all five of his children in a fire, and you're harping about the damned coal trucks. You're really something, ya know that?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, would you rather be working on this story with Vront or whatever?" A wheezing laugh left Ryan's lips, and he doubled over, clutching at his stomach. Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes. It may have been the beer he'd been nursing ever since putting this piece together with Shane. 

" _Vront_..." Ryan wiped at his eyes and looked at Shane, who was giggling madly to himself. "You got anymore where that came from?"

"Oh baby I've got a ton," Shane retorted. He leaned back in his chair. 

"You're an asshole." 

"Yes I am." At least he didn't attempt to deny it. "But that doesn't change the fact that I have more questions. Does this all seem a little sketch to you?"

"Does what seem sketch?" Shane rolled his eyes, pulling a hand through unruly hair. It stuck up in sharp clumps between his fingers. 

"All of this, Ryan. All of this is super weird. George Sodder says he was threatened by a man who said, what? I'm gonna burn your house down and your children are going to die-"

"Wait we don't know what he said-"

"And no one's following up on this? And then the Sodders don't give any other information? And _then_ the detective they _might_ have hired goes missing?" Shane gesticulated brusquely. "Seriously, this all just feels really suspicious." 

"That's why we're writing about it for our thing," Ryan explained patiently. " ** _Unsolved_** is gonna be the column of the century. And besides, we're chroniclers, not investigators. Let's leave the fine toothed combing for the police and whatnot." Shane responded with a simple eye roll. 

"Doesn't sound like the police are doing a good job with this." It was Ryan's turn for an eye roll, and Shane ducked the swat aimed in his direction. They were both choking on laughter in spite of themselves.

"The private detectives then!"

"There's only one, and he's missing!" There was an urgent voice in the back of Ryan's mind. It was saying, _Just tackle him, no one will care_. He resisted this urge. 

"Listen, apparently these people are putting up a billboard about this." Shane groaned, rubbing at the spot between the bridge of his nose and his forehead. "They're probably gonna hire another detective." Dark eyes met dark eyes, and while they were both still filled with mirth, Shane's seemed a bit more subdued. 

"Honestly, God help whoever gets stuck with this," he said earnestly. "He's gonna need some balls of steel." Ryan's response was nothing but a wheeze.


	2. Determination

Perhaps he did not possess balls of steel in the literal sense, but C.C. Tinsley was determined. He was determined in every single aspect of his life. He was determined when he stood out in the cold just so he could catch the bus rather than waste money on a taxi. He was determined when he was jogging in the mornings and felt his lungs spasm in that way they did when his body was telling him to stop running, but he still had to keep on going. And he was determined when people came to him with their problems. He was determined when someone told him their friend was missing, or their lover had turned up drowned, or they were worried their little brother had gotten into something way out of his control. So was he as determined now, with the Sodder parents looking at him with wet eyes, pleading for the safe return of children they were sure were snatched from them.

Tinsley did not look like what most imagined a private investigator to look like. He was not dark and rugged and worldweary. He had sandy blond hair that fell in featherlight tufts over his eyes, and seemed to have the consistency of duck down. His eyes were robin's egg blue, pale enough that, if he had been a harder man, a colder man, they might have looked cruel, but the only seemed to add a cherub like essence to him. Tinsley was an even pale that defied the image of the swarthy, dark man of mystery, and the only stereotype he adhered to in any regard to his profession was that he was tall, with long, gangly legs and piano player fingers. 

"How long have you been doing this?" There was more than a hint of skepticism in Mrs. Sodder's tone. "Mr. Ogletree-" Mr. Sodder raised a hand to shush her. 

"I apologize," he said demurely. Tinsley dismissed the supposed slight with a flick of his wrist. 

"It's a valid question," he answered, tone low and even. "I'd have been more surprised if it hadn't been brought up. The answer to your question, Mrs. Sodder, is that I've been in the private investigation business for going on five years now. I know it may not seem like it, and I know it certainly doesn't look it, but I know what I'm doing. I've found people before. I'm an expert at scrounging up the truth." The woman nodded, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. Tinsley folded his fingers together, placing his elbows on the table and leaning forward. "I want you two to listen to me carefully, before we go on about any of this." The pair nodded. "I cannot promise you the outcome you want. You want me to return your children to you, but that's not a guarantee. They could be alive, they could be out of the country, they could be dead." Mrs. Sodder flinched. 

"Do you think-"

"No." His answer was blunt. "I don't think. I don't make assumptions until I start having a foundation of facts. Right now, the only thing I'm thinking is that I'm going to get to the truth." Tinsley was leaning so far forward he was almost out of his seat. "You'll get the truth from me. That much I promise you. But I can't promise it'll be anything you'll like." His speech done, he leaned back. The Sodders looked at each other, an excited nervousness in their eyes. Tinsley waited, his shoulders relaxed. He didn't think they were the type to run away if their desired outcome wasn't an absolute certainty. 

"The truth is all we want," Mr. Sodder said authoritatively. Tinsley nodded. 

"Then let's talk business." Mrs. Sodder pulled a substantial packet of folders and papers from her purse, and put them down with a heavy sound on the table. "This is all the information you have?" 

"So far." She pushed them forward. "Everything we got from the police, and what little we received from Mr. Ogletree." Tinsley pulled the files to him, but did not open them. "We didn't get much from Mr. Ogletree." Mrs. Sodder's tone was judgmental. 

"You believe he ran off?" In spite of himself, Tinsley's curiosity was peaked. It was bizarre for any investigator to leave a client high and dry, unless said client gave them a truly obscene amount of money from the getgo. 

"We don't know what to believe," Mr. Sodder said, likely before his thin lipped wife could make an unflattering quip. "Either he's missing or he ran off, but either way, he's not here anymore. But we are. And we need to _know_." His voice quavered on the last word, and Tinsley felt a tug of sympathy in his chest. 

"I understand." He didn't, not really. He had no children, no one he was truly close to or attached to in such a visceral way; he could not truly understand the Sodder family in this moment. But Tinsley could understand what his goals were when he had decided to make this life for himself. He helped people. He knew he helped people. There had been failures along the way, yes, but more often than not he was blessed with string after string of successes. There was good in the world, Tinsley knew it, and he felt it was his duty to uphold it in the best way he knew how. 

The detective opened the first child, examined a picture of the five missing children, the "upstairs children". He could feel his determination building, his absolute certainty that nothing would stop him from uncovering what exactly had transpired the night of the fire, what exactly had happened to these five "upstairs children". His gaze lifted from the missing Sodder children to the desperate Sodder parents. He nodded once, sharp and swift and terse. Mrs. Sodder's eyes filled. 

"So you'll try and find the truth?" 

"Oh, I won't try." There was a fire smoldering in Tinsley's blue eyes. "I _will_ find the truth." 


	3. Dangling Thread

It was a cold day. The kind of day where you didn't even to do anything requiring physical exertion beyond the norm to see your breath puff up in smoke in the air, the kind of day everyone looked paler from the cold save for the redness of their noses and cheeks, the kind of day where people didn't stop and talk in the road for fear of freezing to death. It was indeed, a very cold day, and for once, Tinsley's habit of wearing a long beige trench coat wasn't turning him into a stared at oddity, but a part of the crowd. Hands shoved in his pockets, hat tucked low over his brow and head tilted down against the chill, Tinsley made his way against the flow of foot traffic to get to the District Attorney's office. 

He didn't go often; he never really had all that great a relationship with the state prosecutors. Private firms preferred him, private firms that could get him to do their dirty work and didn't have to worry about all the legal ramifications that came with it. The District Attorneys liked to think they were better than the likes of a private detective, liked to think that the law was on their side in all things, and that they had no need for an extra helping hand. As for Tinsley, he found most state prosecutors to be pedantic and uppity whenever he made their acquaintances. Not all of them, of course, and whether they liked it or not they _were_ on the same side of the law, so Tinsley saw the benefit of working together, but most of them irritated him. But sometimes, he needed them. 

Pushing through the heavy door with his shoulders, Tinsley shuddered at the sudden influx of warmth as he entered the building. It was a prestigious one, fancy even, reminiscent of the court room in all of its majestic austerity. He removed his hat, running a long fingered hand through straw colored hair as he gazed around him, allowing the numbness of the cold to recede from his limbs as they got used to the warmth of being inside. With quick, echoing footsteps, he made his way over to the receptionist, leaning casually against the desk.

"Excuse me, but could you tell me where District Attorney Owen's office is?" he asked. The secretary, a slightly portly woman with flaming red hair and smattering of freckles on the bridge of her nose, blinked up at him owlishly.

"Why do you need to know?"

"I'm a representative for a third party in a case she's working on," Tinsley lied smoothly. "We'd agreed to meet today to discuss our options in handling each other." The words rolled effortlessly off his tongue; lying was not a new game for Tinsley to play. 

"Second floor, third door on the right," the receptionist told him, indicating with one thick finger. 

"Thank you so much." Tinsley hoped his smile was winning. "No need to disrupt her, she knows I was coming at this time." And before any other questions were asked, he was off, stepping into an elevator and getting to the second floor in a matter of minutes.

The door to the third office on the right was closed, but it had a glass panel embedded in the wood, and Tinsley could see two silhouettes from where he stood, one man and one woman. They were having a discussion, one that Tinsley couldn't hear, and the shadows were too blurred to make an inference as to what type. After a few minutes, the door opened, and a man left, walking swiftly past Tinsley without giving him a second glance. He opened the door to what must have been a restroom, and disappeared through it. Tinsley entered the office without bothering to knock. 

"Louise Owen?" 

"The one and only." It looked as if she was about to sit down before Tinsley came in, and there was a mild expression of annoyance on her face as she straightened her spine. "What can I do for you?" She didn't offer him a seat, so he took on anyway. Louise remained standing. She was a slender woman, with thin hands and a thin, pretty face with long lashed doe eyes, and wavy dark brown hair. Tinsley would be hard pressed to find someone who wouldn't find her attractive, but she always seemed to have a steel rod attached to her spine that gave her detached, professional air that made it slightly harder to dismiss her than it would have been otherwise.

"I've been hired by the Sodder family." Apparently that was all he needed to say, because Louise did sit down in her chair when he said that, with an exasperated groan to highlight exactly how she felt. 

"Another one?" She drummed her fingers against the desk. Tinsley noticed a thin white line on her left ring finger where a long resting ring must have recently been taken off. "What're you, the third?" 

"Second," he corrected. "And that's because the first one up and dusted." Louise's response was a non committal hum. "I was looking through some of the files that the Sodders gave me, and I noticed something." 

"Just one thing?" Her lips quirked up, but the smile didn't seem genuine. "You might need to find a new way to pay your bills." Tinsley didn't change his expression. 

"Mr. Sodder says someone threatened him," he continued. "A life insurance salesman of some kind. Said he threatened the children too, apparently." 

"Unless you think I'm this life insurance salesman, I don't see what that has to do with me." Tinsley laughed in spite of himself, short and dry. Louise raised one arched brow, the rest of her face still. 

"Did anyone file a report about it? Were any investigations made? Anyone charged with threats to do harm?" 

"Do I look like a police officer?" 

"Not in that jacket." Louise propped her chin on her middle and index finger, elbow leaning against her desk. Tinsley leaned back in his chair, equally as falsely relaxed as she no doubt was. 

"I don't know anything about any threats," she said, slower than her past answers. As if she was actually thinking them through, and not simply trying to get him to leave. "Not through legal channels, and not through the gossip vine. If there's been anything done about this, it hasn't been through me or mine." Then it likely hadn't been done at all. There was a reason Tinsley went to see Louise Owen as opposed to anyone else in the District Attorney's office. She was good, and she had eyes and ears in most places. Tinsley had a feeling not much happened in their similar line of work without her or her fellows knowing about it. 

"So a man has his children threatened and doesn't do anything about it," he mused aloud to himself, furrowing his brow. "Why?" 

"Maybe it didn't happen," Louise offered. "Maybe he made it up, or exaggerated it." 

"No, I don't think so." Tinsley stood, not to leave but to pace. Louise remained seated. "Man threatens children, man is not reported or otherwise reprimanded, children go missing-" 

"Die, technically," Louise interjected. Tinsley looked at her sharply. "If you're talking based on facts, then state the facts. Legally, these kids are dead." The detective shook his head ruefully, and resumed his movements. "Tinsley-"

"Is anyone still investigating the cause of the fire?" Louise shook her head. "Could you get me clearance to visit the site?" 

"I don't think you need clearance. Fire chief's investigation is over." Tinsley clapped his hands together, a loud and jarring sound that made Louise start. "Why do you want to go to their burned down house?" 

"Say someone did threaten this family." Tinsley stopped pacing, and braced his hands against Louise's desk, leaning forward intently. "This someone wants to hurt George Sodder. How does he do that?" 

"He sets a fire and burns their lives to the ground." Louise didn't seem adversarial to this hypothesis, more so confused. "I've read the reports on this, with the first investigator the Sodders hired. They've determined it was the result of faulty wiring." Tinsley shook his head emphatically. 

"But that doesn't add up," he insisted. "They just had it checked this past fall. Something's going on, and from what you've told me, law enforcement isn't in the know whatsoever." With another sharp move, Tinsley moved towards the door, his purpose of coming here achieved. He had the information he needed, and more importantly, he had a prominent lawyer doubting the established narrative, a prominent lawyer who might turn out to be useful to him in the future. 

"This is a pipe dream." Tinsley turned back around. "You know that right? Those kids are dead." 

"What makes you say that?" Louise looked oddly sympathetic as she stood, fingers of one hand trailing on her desk as she moved towards him. 

"Common sense," she said softly. "They're parents. Their children died in that fire, but that can't accept that, so they're looking for any other type of excuse in order to hold onto hope for a little while longer." Tinsley shook his head. 

"See, I don't believe that." Louise arched her brow again. 

"Why?" 

"Just something in my gut," Tinsley said with a shrug. "And besides, I find it hard to believe that anyone, whoever they are, would murder innocent children in cold blood." Louise scoffed. 

"So you're an idealist." 

"An optimist, technically." Like before, there was a slight smile on her face, but like before, it wasn't a happy smile. It wasn't mocking either, but almost pitying, as if the lawyer knew something Tinsley didn't. 

"That's a dangerous thing to be in your line of work." He didn't respond, simply wrenched open the door and walked down the hall to the elevators. He managed to catch one at the last second, one already occupied with the man who appeared the one talking to Louise earlier. Strange that he hadn't left yet. 

"Lobby?" Tinsley nodded, leaning against the wall as his companion pressed the button. "You don't look like a lawyer." The man was in front of Tinsley and faced away, so he couldn't determine any defining physical characteristics, but he had an affable voice. 

"I'm not," the detective responded, shoving his hands into his pockets, mind still pouring over his theories. "I needed to have a conversation with DA Owen about something." The stranger hummed in response. 

"How do you know her?" 

"I'm a private investigator." Once again, Tinsley was working against the stereotypes of his work. There was nothing dangerous about his profession that prevented him from divulging it to the curious bystander. Nor was there any shame to it. "C.C. Tinsley." The man still didn't turn, but he nodded. Tinsley noticed a shadow on his face, possibly a patchy beard. "I didn't catch your name, Mr..."

"Doctor," the stranger corrected, turning his head ever so slightly, before facing ahead again. 

"Doctor, then." The doctor inclined his head as the elevator reached its destination, and its two passengers swiftly disembarked. In a flash, the doctor was gone, leaving Tinsley to hypothesize in the lobby. Why wouldn't George Sodder report a threat made against his children to the police? Why would he be so vague about it? Why would the fire department not conduct a thorough enough investigation to remove any doubt? Why were people not even a little bit concerned by the glaring holes in this? Why did no one want to pull on the loose and dangling threads? And why would law enforcement so willingly accept a shaky explanation at best, when there were still so many unanswered questions surrounding the case? 

If Tinsley hadn't been so preoccupied, he might have noticed that the doctor never had given him his name. 


	4. Spread Out

Tinsley's apartment was a chaotic sight. It was never very neat, even on his offbeat days, but right now it looked as though a tornado had made its way through the rooms. His bed was unmade, his kitchen table messy, and his biggest room, one dominated by a large desk that stood directly in the paths of a window at one end and a door at the other was covered in an explosion of paper. Tinsley himself wasn't even sitting at the desk, he was sitting cross legged on the floor, his various files and documents and other accoutrements spread out before him as though some sort of massive jigsaw puzzle. 

He wanted it all to fit together. He wanted something to magically realign itself in such a way that he would able to actually get something done. All Tinsley had been capable of doing since the Sodder parents had come to this office was lie his way into places he shouldn't be in and gather bits and pieces of information that didn't seem to fit together. The closest he was getting to a true break in the case was an attempt to figure out who this mysterious life insurance man had been, why he had threatened George Sodder mere days before the fire, and why it had never been reported. So far, he had nothing. It was infuriating. 

"...alleges that he was recently threatened by a man he believed to be a life insurance salesman..." Tinsley stood abruptly, fingers curling into a fist in spite of his better nature. Rather than kick his desk as he was inclined to do, he paced, as he often did in times of stress. He would figure something out soon. He had to. There had been cases before where Tinsley had thought nothing would happen and he would be forced to admit defeat. But things had always turned out all right in the end. It would be like this for this case; he just needed to be patient. 

His visit to the Sodder house had been a bust. Most of it was ash, as if someone had managed to shove the entire structure into a very large crematorium. All that remained of the entire affair were a few blackened, rickety, skeletal tendrils that had once been a home. Tinsley had needed to take a moment, to remind himself that, as of now, there was nothing to suggest the kids had died in this fire. Nothing to suggest that, if someone was responsible for this fire, they did it with the express intention to murder innocent children. He had to keep faith in that. But it was hard, harder than usual, strolling amongst the rubble, struggling to find the opportunity for clean breaths in an air that was still acrid with smoke. 

He wasn't an expert on fire. Tinsley didn't know what to look for in order to determine the difference between an accidental ignition and a fire set with malicious intent. But he did know that he didn't find any human remains. None whatsoever. And however hot the fire burned, however little of the house was left, it hadn't been hot enough to completely destroy the entire structure. And if it hadn't been hot enough to completely burn away the house, then it couldn't have been hot enough to completely cremate five children who must have already been trying their damnedest to escape. And kneeling in the ash, allowing it to stain his slacks, his trench coat, Tinsley had known that there was something going on he needed to figure out, as much for the Sodder family as for himself. He would have cared about finding the kids regardless, but something about the situation was only making him care more and more as time went on. It was becoming less and less about want, and more and more about need. The phone rang, snapping him out of his revery. In an instant, Tinsley lunged to the receiver, knocking his hip against the corner of his desk as he did so. 

"Hello?" 

"Is this Mr. Tinsley?" 

"Yes, yes this is he." Tinsley winced as he examined the rapidly forming bruise on his skin, which was on its way to turning a spectacular shade of purple once the redness toned down. "Who is this?" 

"This is Alexander Dumpfree from HavenLife. You called about one of our salesmen about a week ago." 

"Yes I did!" Tinsley yanked open a drawer and pulled out one of the few files not spread on the floor in front of him. Rifling through, he managed to find the one leaflet of paper he needed. "I called about a call any of your salesmen might have made, either via phone or in person, to the former Sodder residence, during the week of December 25th?" 

"The Sodder residence..." There was a crackling breath on the other line. "And by Sodder residence, you did mean the one that burned down?" Tinsley nodded. 

"Yes," he added upon remembering that his conversation partner couldn't see him. "If you could give me the name of the salesman that made the call, I'd be grateful." HavenLife was the last company he had contacted. All the others had told him, under no uncertain terms, that they had never sent anyone to the Sodder residence the week of the 25th, or any other recent times that could have coincided to George Sodder's claims. The salesman in question had to have been from HavenLife. 

"Well, I apologize Mr. Tinsley, but I fear someone gave you the wrong information." Tinsley's blood ran cold for a brief second. 

"How do you mean?" 

"We never sent anyone to offer any kind of plan, of any sort, to the Sodder residence." Poor Alexander Dumpfree sounded very confused, as if he was convinced this was nothing but a crank call. "I don't think any of our current employees had ever even made a call to the Sodder family." 

"Any past employees?" Tinsley's grip on the phone was tight, and he was leaning against the edge of his desk, the wood digging into his recently formed bruise painfully. He didn't notice. 

"No, not that I've seen in any of our records." There was a silence on both ends as Tinsley absorbed the information, piecing it together bit by bit in his meticulously organized mind. Every single life insurance company in the city had told him, point blank, that they had never made any visits or calls or anything of the like to the Sodder residence. Someone did go to the Sodder residence claiming to be a life insurance salesman. This mystery man, who lied about who he was, proceeded to threaten the Sodder family. The Sodder house burned down soon after that. "Mr. Tinsley? Is something the matter?"

"No," Tinsley responded brusquely, standing up ramrod straight. "Thank you so much for your time." 

"Of course, and if there's anything else I can do for you-" Tinsley hung up without waiting for Dumpfree to finish. 

He was being lied to. Not by HavenLife, they had no reason to deceive him. He was being lied to by the Sodder family. Not all of them maybe; Tinsley had no doubt the four remaining children were simply trying to live their lives the best they could. But the parents...Either one of them or both of them were attempting to deliberately mislead him, and Tinsley had no idea why. It hadn't taken much effort to verify what he just had, to verify that there was no life insurance salesman of any known company who had been dispatched to their home. So not only did they not follow up on that, despite the nature of the purported threats, but they hadn't even bothered with police, or to even tell him anything beyond what was in the report. They hadn't even made mention of the threats when they had met, in this office, to beg Tinsley to take the case and recover their children.

What was so important to them that he wasn't being told the full story? 

He hadn't put down the phone, and now he dialed the number he had been given by Mrs. Sodder during their first meeting. She answered on the first ring. "Who is this?" She sounded harassed, as if she had far too much to do and not nearly enough time to do it. 

"Mrs. Sodder, this is C.C. Tinsley." There was a sharp intake of breath from the other line, and then a bit of silence. 

"Have you found them? Are they all right? Are they safe? Were they hurt? Are they dead? Please God don't tell me their dead!" Tinsley felt as if he needed to physically back away from the phone in order to keep the tidal wave of words at bay. 

"Ma'am, I need to speak to your husband." Another long moment of silence, and then a low cough. 

"Mr. Tinsley." George Sodder's voice was cold and toneless. He was already expecting the worst news. 

"Have you been telling me the whole truth, Mr. Sodder?" Tinsley saw no need for a preamble. There were children he needed to find, and children he couldn't find if he spent the time on meandering sentences with no direction. "About everything? No holds barred?" 

"Of course." Mr. Sodder sounded so genuinely confused Tinsley almost believed. But he didn't, not completely. 

"I don't think you are, Mr. Sodder." He tried to keep his voice as gentle as he could. "I just spoke with every life insurance company in the city that I could. All of them confirmed that they sent no life insurance salesman, matching any type of description I could glean from what little I was offered about him, to your home. And you never filed a report about it, before or after the fire." Silence on the other line. "Are you telling me the whole truth, Mr. Sodder?" Neither of them spoke, and the quiet seemed to echo across the phone line. 

"Of course." Again, Mr. Sodder's voice was toneless. 

"Mr. Sodder, I cannot find out what happened to your children, or even attempt to, if you don't give me all the information you have. And if you have information about this man, about why he threatened, about what he said, about whether or not he existed, then you need to give me all of it. Now." Tinsley tried his best to modulate the irritation in his voice, but it was growing, fast and angry, in the pit of his stomach. They loved their children, these two, he knew they did. And he knew they had nothing to do with whatever might have happened to them. But they were still reticent about being forthcoming, and it sat oddly with him. 

"Do what we paid you to do, Mr. Tinsley," Mr. Sodder commanded, his tone still ice like. "No more. No less. And call me only with results." He hung up before Tinsley could even attempt another vein of questioning, leaving him opened mouthed, listening to the dial tone whine in his ear. Still with the phone in his lowered hand, the detective looked at his desk, at the receiver, at the papers strewn about the floor, all the evidence of an attempt to put a puzzle together even though he appeared to be missing a few pieces. With a growl of frustration, he threw the phone across the room, where it bounced off the wall with a harsh bang. 


	5. A Midnight Conversation

It was midnight when she left, and it was cold. Not snowy cold, but cold enough where even looking outdoors could send a shiver down spines. The night only made it colder, and Louise felt the sharp sting of it on her face as she stepped outside. She had worked late, as she often did, and the streets were nothing short of deserted as she made her way through the frosty air, alone. With a dark sky and orange-yellow street lamps, the red of her thickest coat was the brightest thing in this solitary tableau, a singular drop of bright crimson blood in pitch black pond. Louise never minded her late hours, or the walks alone; it allowed her the quiet to think, to reflect, without fear of interruption from other passersby. Tonight, she allowed the silence to fold itself around her, like a chilly blanket, listening to the sole sound of her heels against the sidewalk. One step after another, an echoing solitude against the stone. Until it was two steps after another, someone else joining her walk in perfect tandem with her stride. 

"Louise!" She almost turned around. Almost. Until she remembered that she recognized that voice from somewhere, and that if she turned around she would be indulging in a conversation that would most likely end in physical violence. Louise had no desire to talk to her recent companion, no desire to do anything with him, and her only response was to adjust the strap of her brief case on her shoulder and tighten her knuckles around the leather. And she kept on walking, at a slightly faster clip, yet still she was matched. They walked in silence for a while, tension somehow thicker than the cold. 

"What can I do for you?" There was no use ignoring him. But Louise wouldn't stop walking; if he wanted a conversation he would have to keep up. He did, unfortunately, though she heard a huff of irritation at the mocking sincerity in her tone. Louise felt a grin tease at the corners of her mouth at the sound. 

"You could stop running away from me, for one." Louise scoffed, shaking her head ruefully. Her breath puffed into a white cloud against the yellow of the street lamps. "Something amusing, counselor?" 

"I'm walking home," she responded, still staring straight ahead. "It's cold out, and I've been working. You know, that thing people do when they actually want to make their own money?" In spite of herself, her lips curled in a sneer. "If you want to talk, you can talk and walk at the same time." 

"Oh, Louise, I forgot just how catty you were." Her companion would have sounded nostalgic if it hadn't been for the undercurrent of hostility in his tone. Louise didn't respond to that, however much she wanted to snap at him. She didn't want to give any sort of satisfaction, and the chill in the air made it easy to keep her mouth shut and focus on getting back to her warm home. "We need to talk about Artemus." 

"No, _you_ need to talk about Artemus." Louise fought not to stumble over the name. "I need to get some sleep before I go back to the daily grind tomorrow. Besides, there's nothing important to talk about."

"That's bullshit," the other man said, voice low and angry. "He's missing, and as far as I know, as far as _anyone_ knows, nothing is being done about it." 

"Then take it up with the police department," Louise retorted, pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and index finger. "I'm a state prosecutor, remember? I deal with the cases after the arrests have been made and the charges have been filed. If something noteworthy had actually happened, and someone was being tried for it, then you could come and talk. Right now, you have no reason to want to sit down and have a fireside chat with me."

"Don't I?" Louise stopped, and so did he. She still refused to look at him, and for once, he didn't attempt to poke and prod the issue. The lawyer took a deep breath, allowing the cold air to sharpen its knifelike edge against her ribs. After a minute, she continued walking, and once again, her stride was matched. 

"Just because you want to talk doesn't mean I have anything to say." 

"It's not _want_ , Louise, it's _need_." His voice was urgent, and there was an upwardly tilting edge that reminded Louise of hysteria. She would be lying to herself if she said that the slip in composure didn't please her even the tiniest bit. "Artemus is missing, I know he is. And despite filing a report, despite hounding everyone in law enforcement I've ever heard of, despite pulling out all the stops I possibly can, it honestly seems to me like no one cares about this whatsoever." 

"And what does this have to do with me?" 

"What's being done to find him?" He was definitely riled up. 

"Finding him, if he was missing, would be the police department's job, and I wouldn't have anything to do with it." Louise continued walking, increasing her speed just the slightest bit. "If they don't want to include you, you're out of luck." Her tone was cavalier and dismissive, and perhaps that was more than he could take, because the unwanted companion caught her arm, pulling her to a stop and turning her to face him. Louise didn't flinch, just stared head on with the same expression she'd made sure she had this entire conversation. Cold, neutral, devoid of feeling.

The street lamps weren't ideal lighting, but they were enough to illuminate her companion for her. He was just the slightest bit taller than her, dressed in a large wool coat and casual clothes that seemed too airy for this weather. He had a proud face, a handsome one, with high cheekbones and a strong jaw, all framed with thick and curling hair the color of an oil slick. He had dark eyes, framed with paint brush lashes, eyes that always looked like there was something swirling just below the surface. Right now he was staring at her with something almost akin to supplication, mixed with annoyance. 

"You know, funny you should mention that, since I have been feeling a little out of luck lately." Louise yanked her arm out of his grasp, feeling indignation rise up and choke her throat. 

" _You've_ been feeling unlucky? _You_?" She turned away as if to start her walk again, and then whirled back around, feeling anger heat up her cheeks, force words out from her tongue. "Anything that's happened recently to make you feel unfortunate has been your own fault." Louise's companion raised a dark brow in response, his own gaze sparking up heatedly the more she spoke. 

"Oh, that's what you think?" Louise resisted the strong urge to throttle him. "You're a District Attorney, Louise Owen. You know that nothing is as a black and white as people make it out to be." He leaned back agains the brick of the wall, one knee bent, foot resting against the vertical surface. Louise stayed ramrod straight, chin lifted defiantly, a direct contrast to his entire disposition. 

"Some things are." Her companion shook his head, as if she was nothing more than a deliberately obtuse child. 

"I can't believe you, _you_ of all people," he gave her a once over that made Louise feel as if he was examining more than just her physical self. Louise felt something shift, moving the conversation beyond the simplicity of its previous repartee. "I can't believe you wouldn't give a damn about the fact that someone you care about is unaccounted for, dangerously so." And just that, the rules snapped back into place for her. 

"Oh, Tricky Ricky," she sighed, the carefree fondness in her tone as artificial as she could possibly make it. "How many times do I have to say this? I don't care what happens to you. I don't care what happens to Artemus either. The both of you can rot in Hell." He reeled back as though slapped. Louise felt the words burn in the back of her throat, but offered no apology, no attempts to soften what she had just spat out.

"You're cruel." Ricky said it simply and harshly, not to insult but to state a fact. Louise swallowed, but made sure not to change her expression. It didn't hurt. Not even a little bit, not even at all.

"Maybe I am," she responded softly, head tilting ever so slightly. "What does that make you?" Ricky was very still, and Louise leaned forward, arms folded across her chest. She sought to wound now, just as he had with his own accusation. "Maybe Artemus left because he figured out just what kind of a person you really are." Louise didn't stick around to see what reaction her words elicited. She turned to leave, expecting him to let her do so. Instead, without warning, his hands were clamped around her arms, and her back was pressed up against the wall, the force of it all so sudden her gasp puffed out of her in a startled noise. There was something smoldering in Ricky's gaze, but Louise didn't flinch. She held his gaze, the two of them so close together the frosty breaths mingled in the open air. 

"If I were you, Mr. Goldsworth," her voice was a deadly whisper, "I would think  _very_ carefully about what I'm about to do next." Ricky snatched his hands off her as if they burned, taking a step back as if waking from a daze. Louise leaned her head back against the wall for a moment, allowing her eyes to flutter shut. They stayed like that for a moment, limp, burnt out, emotions rubbed raw. 

"What do you really think?" Ricky sounded unbelievably tired, exactly the way Louise felt. 

"I think Artemus was as unfaithful a detective as he was a lover." No protests from Ricky, not when they both knew how close to the mark she was on that front. "I think he took that poor family's money and skipped town, because that's the kind of man he was. I think I don't give a damn about him anymore." Louise made to leave again, but stopped once again, this time of her own volition. Ricky was behind her now, the urge to follow and hound her having apparently dissipated. She turned her head slightly, chin to shoulder, not quite able to see him but enough to get a dark blur in her periphery. "If you're really worried, you could always hire a private investigator." This time, not even she knew if she was mocking him or being sincere.

Louise left him there, staring at the ground, and continued her walk home. Her limbs felt heavy and aching, as if she had just swum across the English Channel without any respite, and she had no doubt Ricky Goldsworth, for all his posturing, for all his annoyance, felt the same way. She missed simpler times, easier times, when there hadn't been so much mystery and betrayal clouding around her life, the way her breath clouded in air so cold not even the orange glow of street lamps could give an illusion of warmth.


	6. A B&E Is A Crime

The smell of ash would stay with him for days. It was so acrid, so bitter, that it had no doubt seeped into his trench coat, his pants, his hair, his skin. And it had all been completely useless. In a last ditch effort to glean all he could about the fire, Tinsley had returned to the ruins of the Sodder home, to sift through the cinders and piece together whatever he could. He hadn't been able to piece together _anything_. He came up empty handed and foul smelling, and in a bad mood to boot. Not for the first time, and likely not for the last, he wished that the first detective the Sodders had hired hadn't up and dusted. Not because he didn't want this, but because he wanted to be able to contact him, to ask him for whatever information he had. This Ogletree man, the first investigator, hadn't given the family much, and therefore Tinsley didn't have much. Who knew whether or not there had been something worthwhile at the Sodder house that Mr. Ogletree had taken to examine, something he might have dug up with resources Tinsley didn't have. 

It was a long walk back from the burnt house to his own home office. Tinsley didn't mind it. It was giving him time to think, to plot a new plan of attack. He knew that the fire wasn't going to lead him anywhere. It was turning into a deader end than he would have wanted. So he needed to focus elsewhere, regroup his thinking. If not the fire, then where else to look? The Sodders were proving difficult in the art of telling the truth, so no use trying to find anything from them. But maybe if he attempted to retrace Ogletree's steps, to learn what he had learned, he might be able to get some clarity, to at least figure out what had happened to those kids. To at least know for certain if they were alive or dead, if there was even anything to investigate. To know whether he was right in his assertion something more was going on, or whether Louise Owen was right, and this was nothing more than the Sodders' pipe dream. 

Tinsley had decided early on in his career it was best he consolidate his assets as best he could. It was why his apartment and his office were one in the same, with his desk in square view of whoever walked in when they first entered, and his kitchen and bathroom and bedroomed all crammed to the side behind unceremoniously closed doors. He didn't mind it. He was doing what he did best, what he was good at, and oftentimes it had happy results. So he didn't mind often having to climb up the stairs when the elevator broke, and he didn't mind waking himself early every day so that no client would ever see him in his pajamas. He didn't mind any of that. 

He did mind when he found his door mysteriously unlocked, opened said door, and found a stranger sitting on his desk, apparently waiting for him. 

"Hello." Tinsley had no idea why his first instinct was to greet the stranger currently occupying his space, but greet him he did. The stranger wasn't unattractive, with a well defined face and dark wavy hair, but he was a stranger that apparently made his way into Tinsley's apartment while he was out. And appeared to be waiting for him. He closed the door behind him, though he didn't lock it. Who knew if the situation would end up calling for a quick and easy escape out of his apartment?

"The door was unlocked." Tinsley smiled slightly as he unwound his scarf and shrugged off his coat, draping both on the nearest available surface. He felt somewhat at ease, for some reason, as he took steps towards this stranger, leaning against the wall a few feet away from the desk and the intruder. He was still smiling. 

"No it wasn't." The stranger smiled too, and even though they had been perfectly civil thus far, Tinsley would have had to be completely inept not to detect the threatening undercurrent in this interaction. Luckily for him, he was nowhere near inept. He stared at the stranger, and the stranger stared back at him, the both of them attempting to size the other up, to figure out weaknesses and strengths in whatever way they could. The stranger broke the silence first, with a casual shrug as he hopped off the desk, rolling his shoulders back. 

"Perhaps not." He took a step forward, and Tinsley straightened himself. "But that doesn't really matter." 

"It might," Tinsley said frankly, keeping his tone perfectly civil. "Breaking and entering is a crime, as far as I'm aware. And one that holds a bit of a severe punishment." The stranger shrugged, as if the threat of being arrested was no more than a passing nuisance for him. 

"Maybe I have an excuse." In spite of himself, in spite of the potential danger of a madman breaking into the place where he lived, Tinsley couldn't help but laugh. He moved away to the other side of his desk, and noticed with a flash of irritation that the stranger had taken it upon himself to pull up the blind on the window behind his desk. He pulled it back down swiftly. 

"This should be interesting." Tinsley sat in his chair, the appearance of calm and nonchalant, though his shoulders were tight. "What _is_ your excuse, Mr..."

"Goldsworth." He turned to Tinsley, reaching an extended hand over the desk. Tinsley shook it. "Ricky Goldsworth." The name sounded familiar to the detective, but he was having the slightest trouble placing it. "I have a job for you." 

"A job?" 

"Someone I know, a friend of mine, is missing." Ricky's voice shook ever so slightly. Tinsley leaned forward, because in spite of himself, he was already becoming intrigued. "And nothing is being done to find him. Not by his friends or his family or law enforcement." 

"Other than you." Tinsley gestured in Ricky's direction, where he gave an acquiescing nod. 

"Other than me." Ricky leaned forward, bracing both his hands against the desk. Tinsley did not lean back, or otherwise indicate surprise at the sudden closeness. Different colored eyes met, both outwardly calm, but with one hiding a swirl of emotions. "I know something's gone wrong. I _know_ it." 

"How do you know he didn't just leave and not tell you?" Ricky sighed, shaking his head as if this was an argument he had heard a million times before. Depending on how much he'd harassed law enforcement about this friend of his, that could possibly be true. 

"He's not like that," Ricky insisted. "He's...well, not loyal." He smiled to himself, as if privy to a joke that Tinsley was not. "But dependable. We had an engagement the night he disappeared, and he had a meeting with someone that night as well. He never showed up to either. And I can't shake this awful feeling that something's gone wrong, and he's in trouble. So I need you to find him." Tinsley felt a tug of sympathy, just like he did with the Sodders. Part of him did want to help. But the other part...

"I feel for you," he said sincerely, standing. Ricky straightened. "And under any circumstances, I would help you. But I'm afraid I've already got another case, one I do need to devote the majority of my resources to. I can't take on another one at the moment." Tinsley tried for something of a sympathetic smile, but it likely came out as a grimace. Ricky Goldsworth looked crestfallen, as if Tinsley had been his last refuge. Maybe he had, and that only made the detective feel all the more sympathetic. Maybe after, Tinsley wanted to say. Maybe after he had found out what Artemus Ogletree had found out, maybe after he discovered the true fate of the Sodder children, maybe after he provided that family with the closure it so desperately needed. Maybe after all of that, maybe Tinsley could look into Ricky Goldsworth's missing friend.

"He was a private investigator too." Ricky pulled away, turning as if he was about to walk out the door. But he didn't, simply leaned against the wall with one foot resting on it, not dissimilar to Tinsley's position from when they first began talking. "He was investigating some case the police were sure was closed, something about a fire or a kidnapping or both. He thought it was something more. And I can't help but wonder if he disappeared because of that case." He turned back to Tinsley, who was mentally putting together puzzle pieces and having them fit for the first time in weeks. "That's why I think there are other factors at work here." He was no doubt waiting for Tinsley to call him insane. 

"What is your friend's name again?" 

"Ogletree. Artemus Ogletree." _Fuck!_ Tinsley wrenched open a drawer, rifling through the massive amounts of papers until he found what he needed. Ogletree's arrest report, complete with a mugshot. In his haste, he jumped over the table, sliding astonishingly close to the man who had come into his world by breaking into his home. He jabbed the paper under Ricky's nose. 

"This Artemus Ogletree?" With furrowed brow, the dark haired man examined the photograph. Then he nodded, confused but clearly curious. Tinsley snatched the photograph away. "That's certainly a game changer. No, that's  _definitely_ a game changer." Again, a wrinkled forehead, a moment of questioning, before Ricky caught on. 

"That family," he whispered. "With the missing kids, the family who originally hired Artemus. They hired you too didn't they?" Tinsley nodded; he saw no need to beat around the bush on this. "And do you think him going missing has anything to do with those kids?" Tinsley shrugged, nonchalant. 

"I haven't received any threats, or gotten myself arrested, or anything else," he admitted. "So I don't know. But I do know that finding Ogletree will make my life a hell of a lot easier." Now Ricky Goldsworth had a nervous excitement in his eyes. 

"So you'll take the job?" He seemed to be caught in that bizarre crosspoint between hoping and not daring to. "You'll help me find him?" 

"You want to be involved?" 

"Yes." Ricky was very decisive about this, his tone leaving no room to even attempt at an argument. "I'm done waiting on the sidelines for someone to give me information about what happened. This time, I'm taking an active role." His look dared Tinsley to oppose him. Tinsley did no such thing. 

"All right." Hard to believe that this all started with Ricky Goldsworth breaking into his apartment and demanding that Tinsley find Ogletree, but here they were. Both needing to locate the same man, for very different reasons but with the same level of determination in each other them. Again, dark eyes meet clear blue without blinking. "Let's find him."


	7. Pounding The Pavement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay, but I was packing and then traveling back to LA, and thus this chapter was not able to be posted last Thursday. Everything else will be back on schedule now that I'm back home!

"Tinsley!" Some of the police officers liked him. Some of them did not. Fortunately, one of the officers that liked him was the first on duty officer he ran into at the precinct. "I haven't seen you in a while." Tinsley smiled, allowing Officer Chartris to walk over to him. Last time they'd met up, Tinsley had nearly broken his nose tripping over his own two feet. It was not something he cared to repeat. 

"I'm afraid this isn't just a casual visit," Tinsley admitted. 

"It never is with you, is it?" Chartris clapped him on the back heartily. "Well, I'm here, and I owe you big time from that Omaha lacrosse player case. So what is it this time? Missing pet or gruesome murder?" 

"Something smack dab in the middle of that," Tinsley said with a slight smile. He knew he sounded mysterious and aloof, both two qualities that were rarely attributed to him, and Chartris guffawed. 

"You sound like a character straight out of a Holly Horsley novel, I hope you know that." This time Tinsley did laugh along with the officer, waving a hand dismissively. Horsley's characters were always much more tortured and dynamic than he ever could be. "You do! All of your short, cryptic answers, you sound like you should have a raspy voice and be speaking on a street corner, glancing furtively over your shoulder." 

" _You_ sound like you've been reading too many Horsley novels," Tinsley fired back. "How is she, by the way?"

"Good, as far as I know." Chartris eyed him with more than a little bit of skepticism. "But you didn't come to a police precinct that's far out of your way so that we could talk about a detective turned novelist, did you?" 

No, Tinsley did not. He had been pondering what his next step was in his search for the Sodder children, now combined with a search for Ogletree, ever since Ricky Goldsworth had demanded answers. He knew what Ricky wanted. Ricky wanted the two of them to comb through every corner, every nook and cranny of the town, until they discovered Ogletree's whereabouts and brought him back safe and sound. Not only that, Ricky wanted to be there every step of the way. And while his devotion was commendable, it wasn't aligning with what Tinsley wanted. The Sodder children were his priority, and Ogletree was just a stop in that ultimate destination. And Ricky wasn't nearly as invested in finding those kids as the detective was. 

"I actually wanted to ask you a favor," Tinsley said, folding his fingers together. "Can I do that?" 

"Depends on the favor," Chartris answered bluntly. "If it's small enough, and something that won't get me fired or otherwise severely reprimanded, then absolutely. If it's something bigger, then I might have to show you the door." 

"I need the full, complete, and most importantly unedited Artemus Ogletree arrest form." Just from the look on the police officer's face, Tinsley knew that this request was likely to fall in the "shown door" camp, rather than the "yes" camp. "Chartris, it's important." 

"I don't doubt that." And there was no doubt on Chartris's face, just resignation. "But not only is that above my pay grade, that's something you'll have to take up with the commissioner." 

"Why?" Instantly, Tinsley was on the red alert, leaning forward slightly. He'd gotten unsealed arrest reports. Minor stuff always, and never something as heated or sensitive that involved names being hidden from the public, but it generally wasn't something that went to the higher ups. "Why would the arrest report of a private investigator who, as far as I know, everyone thinks was barking up a leafless tree, be so important that the commissioner would get involved?" 

"I don't know." 

"Maybe not, but someone does, and you've probably got an idea." 

"Who says I do?" 

"My intuition." 

"Maybe you're wrong." 

"I rarely am." Their rapid fire repartee subsided for a moment, and Tinsley did nothing except stare, try to glean what information he could from Chartris's face. There was nothing on it, and the officer was avoiding his eyes. This did nothing to sate Tinsley's curiosity. Maybe Chartris did know nothing, but he was in a position to change that stance, and was willing himself not to. Which brought Tinsley back to the question that almost constantly burned in the back of his mind: Why?

"I wish I could help you, Tins." There was a real regret in the police officer's voice. "But no one's gonna let that arrest report be released without some edits, including the redacted name. You're outta luck here." He clapped a hand on Tinsley's shoulder. "Sorry." With that he was gone, leaving the investigator alone and seething. Just like the smoldering house ruins, just like the "life insurance" phone calls, just like attempting to wrangle the truth out of Mr. Sodder, another dead end! In a whirl of frustration, Tinsley stormed out of the precinct, wondering if he was daring or stupid enough to attempt to break into the records room at night.

"Tinsley!" Unfortunately, planning a crime would have to wait until he dealt with a very irate looking Ricky Goldsworth. The detective turned, hands shoved into his trench coat pocket, making a concerted effort to not look even slightly concerned as Ricky barreled down on him. 

"Ricky." The man in question stopped right in front of Tinsley, wrapped in a dark pea coat and a white scarf. He looked very debonair. "Something the matter?" 

"I thought we had a deal," Ricky said, clearly trying very hard to keep his voice even. "I pay you to find Artemus, on the condition we look together. We pursue leads together, we figure this out together. You don't freeze me out!" He looked very close to betrayed, as if Tinsley had violated some sacred trust by going off on his own. The detective felt almost guilty, and ducked his head for a moment, before resurfacing. 

"I'm sorry." He was sincere when he said it. "I am. But the fact of the matter is, I have a job to do. A job I mean to do well, to the best of my abilities." Tinsley held up his hand as Ricky made to interrupt. "And despite how your intentions are, how much you want to help find your friend, you haven't given me anything." It was Ricky's turn to duck his head. "I've gotten no useful information from you, which isn't necessarily your fault, but I don't have a reason to let you tag along." 

"Maybe you haven't asked the right questions," Ricky said in a low voice. "Maybe I do actually have information that could help you." With a sigh, Tinsley pulled the crumpled, edited arrest form from his pocket, and held it up in front of his companion. 

"This is Ogletree's arrest form," he explained. "There's a name here that's been edited out of all the released versions, and I can't get my hands on the full version. This is your close friend by your own admissions, so do you have any idea who this redacted person could be?" Ricky stared at the form for a long time, and something flickered in his handsome, something unreadable that made Tinsley wonder just how many secrets he was hiding. 

"No," he said at last, his voice sounding oddly constricted. "I don't." The detective took Ricky at face value, and stuffed the paper back into his pocket. 

"Then you can't give me anything." He made as if to walk away. 

"D.B. Cooper." Tinsley stopped, and turned around. 

"Is that the redacted name?" Ricky shook his head, and took a step towards Tinsley. They were close now, and it was the first time that Tinsley noticed that, for all of his commanding presence, Ricky was shorter than he was, looking up ever so slightly through paint brush lashes at the gangly detective. Tinsley's gaze was honest and frank as he stared back. 

"The informant Artemus was supposed to meet when he went missing is named D.B. Cooper," Ricky explained. "He's an ex con, and he's transitioned to help out law enforcement when it suits him. He and Artemus had a rapport, and he might have had information on those missing kids." Ricky shrugged. "He might have information on Artemus too." Here, Tinsley smiled, small and slight but a smile nonetheless, and touched a light hand on Ricky's shoulder. 

"Now that's useful information." Even he could tell that his voice was practically dripping in gratitude. After so many turnarounds, it was nice to have an actual lead with an actual name attached. "Now let's go find this D.B. Cooper." 

"Together?" Tinsley's smile widened, and Ricky even managed to crack a grin. It was a good look on him." 

"Together indeed."


	8. What Did He Know?

Cooper was the one who had chosen the venue. He had always liked _Bobby Mackey's_ , with its smoky interior and crazy cast of characters, and the constantly onstage talent that never failed to amuse. And he couldn't have chosen a better night for this meeting. _Bobby Mackey's_ was packed, from the pretty singer on stage to the two reporters engaged in a heated debate at the bar, to Cooper's own company. His name was his own choice as well. He had chosen Cooper because it was so classically unassuming. Nobody expected anything malicious from a Cooper. From a Danielo Bedoya, most definitely, but not from D.B. Cooper. Nobody expected the go to man for all things crime related to be named D.B. Cooper.

So when the pretty and reputable district attorney said she was going to have a conversation with a man named D.B. Cooper, no one thought twice about it. Even if it was in a place as wild as _Bobby Mackey's_. Even if said Cooper, with his tanned skin and dark, deep set eyes under thick eyebrows, seemed to make every association with him as delicate as balancing on a knife's edge. But Louise Owen seemed capable of handling the balancing, somehow managing to have one of the only neutral faces in the entire establishment. Cooper found it commendable.

"The ponytail works on you." Louise, who was currently scribbling down his latest tip on a legal pad, did not so much as look up, or still her hand at all when he opened his mouth.

"And so does keeping this relationship professional." Cooper laughed without restraint, as he often did, and it was enough to make Louise look up and crack a smile. If she hadn't so handily knocked down any attempt at flirting, he would have told her she had a very nice smile. "Professional as it can be, given our meeting location," the attorney amended, gesturing at their surroundings. 

"I like this place," Cooper replied simply. "It has nice ambiance." Louise snorted. 

"That's one way of looking at it, I suppose." Cooper did nothing but shrug, leaning back in his chair and drumming his fingers against the table. It had been six months since he'd first made contact with Louise, agreeing to be her informant, a sort of middle man between law enforcement and the seedy underbelly he was so familiar with. No longer a part of, not when it had been so self destructive for him the first time around, but familiar with it nonetheless from years of experience. He had gone from teenage criminal to adult heist master to personalized encyclopedia. And during his time as an encyclopedia he'd gotten to know and enjoy Louise's company. And figure out when she enjoyed his in return. 

"How are you?" Cooper hoped she could tell that his question was sincere. There were moments, after all, when he wasn't playing a con. 

"I'm fine." She looked both grateful and gratified that he has asked. Cooper was about to respond, with what he wasn't sure yet, when the couple entering Bobby Mackeh's caught his eye. One tall and lanky, blond and blue eyed, the other a bit shorter, darker, sneakier. 

"That's an interesting pair." Louise turned, and sighed before gathering up her things just as C.C. Tinsley and Ricky Goldsworth made their way over. 

"Guess we'll finish this conversation later." Again, Cooper opened his mouth to respond, but the polar opposite pair was upon them, Tinsley looking cordial and Goldsworth looking complex. Louise had stood, purse in one hand and fingers fidgeting on the other. 

"Tinsley." Louise's smile was genuine if not the slightest bit forced. Her gaze as she turned to Goldsworth was frosty. "You." He didn't appear fazed by his significantly colder greeting. 

"Good to see you too, Louise." He was neither mocking or deferential in his tone, just entirely casual. "Nice of you to choose my club for your date." 

"Not a date-" Cooper amended, before Louise opened her mouth to interrupt. Poor Tinsley, meanwhile, looked more than a little confused, either at the hostility between his companion and the lawyer, or at the fact that said companion owned a club. Cooper had a sneaking suspicion Tinsley didn't get out too often. 

"This is a business meeting. The fact that it's taking place in your establishment is an unfortunate side effect." Louise shouldered past them, shooting a wave at Cooper as she went. And then she stopped, very suddenly, and whirled back around to face an increasingly surprised detective. "And Tinsley? If I were you I'd be more careful about the type of company you keep. Just so you can separate the good eggs from the trash." And with that she was gone, the PI sitting at the chair she had recently occupied with a bemused expression. 

"I'll be right back," the aforementioned trash said, before making his way through the throng over to the pretty girl on the stage. Tinsley drummed his fingers against the table, almost a mirror of Cooper's earlier stance. Except their was an alertness to him that Cooper had, as if nothing was escaping that eagle eyed stare of his. It was just a touch unnerving. 

"He owns this place?" Tinsley gestured around them, and Cooper nodded. 

"For about sixish, sevenish years now." 

"OK..." Tinsley said slowly. "But it's called _Bobby Mackey's_. And unless I missed something major, this place's current owner," now he gestured over to where Goldsworth and the singer were chatting, "is named neither Bobby nor Mackey." 

"It's the weird thing about this place," Cooper explained, leaning forward on his elbows. "The place is always named after the last person who owned it. Robert 'Bobby' Mackey owned it last, so it's named _Bobby Mackey's_ after him. The Viaduct family owned it before then, so Bobby had the place called _The Viaduct Tavern_. And when Goldsworth sells it, or dies and bequeaths it to someone in his will, they'll call it _Ricky's_. It's tradition." Tinsley nodded. 

"You know Ricky well?" Cooper shook his head. 

"Not really. He's never really been in my sphere of influence." 

"But you knew his friend. The missing one, the private detective." And then Goldsworth was back, as if conjured by mere mention of said missing friend. 

"Just needed to talk to Selena about business very quick," he said, sliding in next to Tinsley and opposite Cooper. "Now, you're D.B. Cooper." 

"The very same." He stuck out his hand, and the two companions shook it in quick succession. "What can I do you for?" 

"You were supposed to meet Artemus Ogletree on the night he went missing," Goldsworth said frankly. "About those fire children." Cooper nodded once. Ogletree had contacted him through Louise about the possibility of gleaning information about those children, and the very night Cooper finally had something to give him, the man had up and dusted, left him high and dry. But apparently, being flighty was in character for Ogletree. "Is the information you have inflammatory enough to make someone want to take him out?" 

"The only person who knows that information is me, so that's illogical," Cooper said immediately. "And no, I don't think so. I don't have much." He narrowed his eyes at the two. "Why do you want to know?" Tinsley himself leaned forward now, blue eyes electric. 

"The Sodders came to me after Ogletree vanished." Cooper made a small _ah_ sound. "And I've hit dead end after dead end. So when Ricky asked me to look into Ogletree's disappearance, it seemed that combining the two searches might produce more answers than I'd originally thought. So if I know what Ogletree was supposed to know, I can find both him and what happened to the kids." That made sense to Cooper, and he beckoned the two to lean closer. They did just that. 

"Like I said, I don't have much," he began. "And like I also said, I never got the opportunity to give it to Ogletree. But there's a new player who might have entered the game. The life insurance salesman who threatened George Sodder-"

"He's not a life insurance salesman," Tinsley interrupted suddenly. 

"Huh?" 

"What now?" 

"He's not." Tinsley seemed very certain of himself in this. "I called every single company that ever sold life insurance in this town. None of them have a record of anyone making a sale at the Sodder house, none of them even have a record of anyone unaccounted for at the time when the threats against George Sodder were made. Whoever was there that day was not a life insurance salesman. I'm sure of it." 

"That makes sense," Cooper murmured, propping his chin on his hand. "Basically, this man, whoever he was, apparently has some circle of thug friends who know a guy-" 

"What, that's it?" This time it was Goldsworth who interrupted. "They know a guy?" 

"Let me finish," Cooper said patiently. "It's like a chain of command, for what I don't know yet, where lower level is the man making threats, and upper level is this mysterious other man, doctor something or another." 

"A doctor?" Tinsley sounded disbelieving. "What, were the Sodder children kidnapped by a malevolent pediatrician?" 

"Or a malevolent person with a doctorate. Someone with connections in law enforcement, or friends with connections in law enforcement, or ways to blackmail law enforcement. Just someone with a doctorate who shouldn't be messed with." 

"You think the kids were kidnapped?" Goldsworth asked, turning to the blond detective. Tinsley shrugged. 

"Say they were," he began. "They're kidnapped, and this mysterious person with a doctorate is trying to hush the whole thing up, for reasons we have yet to figure out. Maybe Ogletree was starting to figure out those reasons, and mysterious person with a doctorate gets nervous." 

"And he takes Artemus out to make the trail go cold." Goldsworth was starting to look a little pale. Tinsley, on the other hand, looked furiously contemplative, as if he was not only thinking, but thinking at a hundred miles an hour. Cooper just sat back and watched them both.

"What about Ogletree's arrest?" Tinsley asked, turning back to Cooper. "How does that fit into all this?" 

"Oh it doesn't," Cooper answered swiftly. "That was because of an argument he had with his girl." The facial expressions of the two opposite him shifted again, with Tinsley confused once again and Goldsworth looking as if someone had shut him down. Cooper realized he may have unintentionally unveiled something that had been kept hidden.

"His girl?" And yet in spite of his realization, Cooper nodded at Tinsley's question, pointing in the direction Louise had exited. Tinsley turned around, as if magically expecting her to show up. 

"Ogletree was involved with Louise Owen?" Cooper had no idea why this was such a scandal. It wasn't any salacious gossip, and the most intriguing about that relationship had been how it ended. "The redacted name on the arrest form..." Cooper nodded again. "Louise is the redacted name." Another nod. "But then why..." 

"They got in an argument, she tried to throw him out, he refused to leave." Goldsworth stared at the table, shoulders visibly tense. "From my understanding there was infidelity involved." With a sudden screech, Goldsworth stood, his chair jerking back, and fled Bobby Mackey's, nearly bowling over a few customers in the process. Tinsley whirled in his chair to watch him go, and then turned back, brows furrowed. 

"What the Hell is going on?" Cooper jerked his head in the direction of the exit. 

"I think that's a question better left between the two of you," he said softly. Tinsley stood to leave. "I hope you find out what happened to those kids." The detective stopped, and the two stared at each other for a little while, silent. "Let me know if I can help." Tinsley nodded, a small gesture, before taking off in pursuit of Goldsworth and his secrets. Cooper sat back, letting his ears pick up a brief snippet of conversation from the two reporters near him, still going strong in their argument despite its length. 

_"The only logical conclusion-"_

_"Ryan I swear to God if you say it-"_

_"It's aliens!"_

_"No-Ryan!"_

Up on the stage, the pretty singer, Selena, gestured at the pianist to begin a new tune. Cooper closed his eyes and allowed himself a moment to listen. 


	9. Story of Three

Tinsley's breath came in white puffs in the air once he exited Bobby Mackey's. Either Ricky had a previous destination in mind, or he was devilishly fast, because already he was gone. Not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, frustration built up in Tinsley's chest, already constricted from the cold. 

"Looking for someone?" He whirled around to face Louise, casually leaning under the flickering neon sign, looking thoroughly unconcerned by anything that was happening. "Or do you normally stare around in a panic like a mother bear whose lost her young?" Tinsley couldn't help but roll his eyes. 

"Are you ever nice?" Louise peeled herself off the wall, looking almost offended by his barb. Tinsley tried his hardest not to feel guilty about that. 

"Plenty of times," she spat out, taking a step forward. "But I tend not to pile on niceties when my lunch meetings are interrupted by tenacious private investigators, particularly when they're accompanied by one of the five people in this town I would gladly come to physical blows to." Tinsley resisted the urge to physically reel back from the force of her anger. 

"Why?" There was legitimate curiosity in his tone, along with the need to pry and uncover the truth. "Why do you hate him? And does that have anything to do with the fact that you won't find Artemus Ogletree?" 

"There's no wont," Louise insisted, crossing her arms over her chest. "Apparently, Artemus was allergic to responsibility, or commitment, or anything like that. It makes sense that he would skip town even though people were relying on him." 

"Does it?" The frustration building up inside him made Tinsley raise his voice, taking a step forward of his own. His breath puffed out in the air, both the cold and irritation flaming his cheeks. "None of this makes sense. None of the subterfuge or the secret relationships or the anger, none of it. So someone had better start telling me something, and telling me soon." Louise inhaled deeply, her dark eyes never leaving his clear ones. 

"I can't help you there." Tinsley took a step back. "You're not gonna get answers from me about this particular vein you're on Tinsley. If you want to know the whole sad saga involving Artemus Ogletree, ask Tricky Ricky. Not me." 

"Easier said than done," the PI muttered. Louise cocked an eyebrow. "He tore out of there like he was on fire after Cooper told us about you and Ogletree..." Tinsley's voice trailed up as Louise's eyebrow hitched itself even higher. "Was I not supposed to know that?" Another plume of smoke appeared from Louise's lips and slowly dissipated in the air between them, this time accompanied by something of a laugh. 

"Least of our problems, I'd imagine." She focused her gaze behind him, and Tinsley whipped around, half expecting to see someone creeping up on him, whether it be Ricky or the Sodders or Cooper or the mysterious man with a doctorate, he wasn't sure. "He's Catholic." 

"What?" 

"Ricky," Louise clarified. "He's Catholic. And there's only one Catholic Church in this town. You know St. Monica's?" Tinsley nodded. "My guess is, if he had something weighing on his soul he needed to unburden-and he definitely does-then that's where he would go." Louise gestured vaguely in that direction, before immediately turning to leave. Something told Tinsley that she was desperate to do so, with reasons that he wasn't aware of because he still didn't have the full picture. 

"Thank you." She turned, the knuckles of the hand holding her purse turning white. Her mouth opened as if she was about to say something, before thinking better of it and continuing on her way. Tinsley didn't begrudge her for it. There were things Louise didn't tell him; that was fine. They were casual acquaintances who shared a mutual respect. He didn't need constant truth from her. But he needed it from Ricky, now more than ever, and that was what propelled him in the direction of St. Monica's Catholic Church, the only Papist place of worship in town. 

It was a gorgeous place. Tinsley wasn't religious, had never been religious, but even he could appreciate the serene beauty of St. Monica's. The awe inducing art work, the gold that didn't wasn't gaudy enough to distract the eye, the hum of the Latin choir, the rustle of the nuns' habits, it made Tinsley feel at peace. And as he found a dark head, bowed, sitting in the pews, he knew he wasn't the only one. 

"You really believe in all this?" Tinsley's voice was soft as he stared up at the crucifix. Ricky sighed and crossed himself before answering.

"Yes," he said simply. "Ever since I was a little boy. I've never had a reason not to." Another silence. "You?" 

"No." He didn't feel particularly ashamed to admit to his religious apathy inside of a church. "And I don't think God would listen if I started now." 

"He might," Ricky said quietly. "He listens to me, and I'm a man with secrets who's had relations with both genders. God is more willing to accept people than most 'devout followers' are willing to admit." Tinsley hummed to himself. 

"Does God approve of you not telling me everything you know?" he asked. Ricky stiffened beside him, and when Tinsley turned, his lips were pressed so tightly together they were turning white. He was rigid as a board. "Tell me the full story about Ogletree." 

"It's not your story to know. None of this is your's to know."

"Yes. It is." Tinsley wasn't angry, wasn't loud, but he was forceful, even at a murmur. "You know the Sodders? They aren't telling me everything, even though they can't. And I'm not pushing it, because really telling me stuff is up to them, but you see where I'm at in finding those kids. I'm struggling." Tinsley took a deep breath. "I want to find Ogletree. I really do. Not just for me, but for you too. But I can't do that unless I have all the facts about everything, and right now I don't." On nothing more than pure impulse, Tinsley placed his hand over the dark haired man's, a featherlight touch. Ricky stiffened, and then slumped ever so slightly. "Please?" 

"Full story, nothing omitted?" Ricky was looking straight ahead again, although he didn't move his hand away from Tinsley's. "That's what you want."

"Yes." Ricky nodded. 

"Then that's what I'll give you." Tinsley sat back and waited. Ricky took a deep breath of his own.

* * *

 

"I met Artemus at my club almost three months ago. He was supposed to meet a witness there, but the girl got scared and refused to show. I saw him at the bar, drinking on his own, listening to the music in a way that let me know he wasn't really taking anything in. He looked lonely there, all by himself, that, for some reason I'm still trying to figure out, I sat down next to him. And we struck up a conversation over multiple whiskey sours, a conversation that ranged from my work to his work to childhood pastimes to favorite meals. We covered almost everything before the conversation stopped. I won't go into details, but Artemus spent the night.

Unfortunately, one thing that hadn't come up during our conversation was personal lives. If it had, Artemus might have told me that he had, for the past year, been involved with a pretty District Attorney named Louise Owen, and that the two were serious enough that they were living together. I didn't find out about Louise for weeks. Maybe a month even. And during those weeks I saw Artemus many more times. By the time I did find out he wasn't available, I didn't care. I'm ashamed to say it, I'm ashamed to even think it, but by that point it didn't matter that someone would get hurt from what we were doing. 

Around that time was when the Sodders came to him with their case. They weren't to the level of desperation they must have been when they came to you, but they were already frantic. And something about it, about that case, it unleashed something in Artemus. He turned into a man possessed. He was fanatical about the Sodder children. No, more than fanatical, he was obsessed. All day, all night, he chased leads and hunted down everyone with any connection to them, determined to piece together whatever puzzle there was. He lost weight, he became alarmingly pale. All that seemed to drive him, all that seemed to light a furious fire in his eyes, was that case. 

So I took a calculated risk. By this point I knew about Louise, and I knew that she must have noticed, if not become concerned, by how maniacal Artemus was becoming. So I waited outside her offices one night, and grabbed her by the arm. 'Artemus Ogletree,' I said, hoping I didn't sound or look too guilty when I said the name of the man we were both involved with. She nodded. "He's going off the deep end. He's losing his mind about those Sodder children. Help him. Get him to stop." I said it all in a rush, and then left her there, dumbfounded.

Yes, I wanted her to stop him from pursuing this more. He wasn't like you, curious and methodical. There was something more to this, and I couldn't help but feel like he had gotten in too deep, that this wasn't as much about saving those children-if they could be saved-as it was about saving himself. So I asked Louise to put a stop to it.

I underestimated her. I underestimated both her shrewdness and her capacity for suspicion. That night, she confronted Artemus about the Sodder case, and when things turned contentious-he's always been mercurial, quick to make decisions and quick to feel any emotion he can-she brought me up. And the idiot, the absolute fool, called me by name. And I guess she figured it out. Maybe he confessed, I don't know. What I do know is that she was livid, and tried to toss him out. He wouldn't go, and with tempers already flaring high from her prodding about the Sodder case, things got messy, the police were called, and Artemus was arrested. 

I picked him up when they released him without charging him. He asked me to drive him back to the place he shared with Louise. She was waiting outside the door, everything of his packed in a bag, and his mystery board-and that's exactly what it sounds like-was destroyed. 'If I see you here again, I will press charges." I'd never seen a voice filled with so much rage and hurt in my life. "And if you ever talk to me, if you ever touch me, if you ever _look_ at me again, I will come for you, and I will tear you apart.' She didn't say anything to me, just gave me a glare filled with loathing, before leaving and slamming the door in our faces. Artemus looked as if his legs had been cut out from under him. 

He found his own place to stay at after that. We put our relationships, whatever it was, on hold after that night. He wanted to figure himself out, and as for me...Well, I'd always had a feeling I wasn't meant to be anything more than the temporary fix to Louise's permanent one. We stayed in touch, and he still frequented Bobby Mackey's, but we didn't drink together. Or sleep together. Then two days after his arrest, he disappeared. Vanished without a trace, without so much as a word or a breath.

And I can't help but feel like something awful has happened to him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas and also happy one month anniversary since GP's first chapter got published! Trust me when I say you're all in for a wild ride


	10. Decisions Made

Ricky could feel the thrumming of his pulse in his ears. The church still had its small noises, the way it always did, and yet in this pew, with Tinsley next to him-he had taken his hand away from Ricky's somewhere through his tale-it felt like a bubble of silence. Ricky's heart was pounding. It was the first time he had told anyone the entire saga that was his involvement with Artemus Ogletree, and it felt like he had both taken off and added a huge weight. He didn't look at Tinsley in the silence; he simply stared ahead at the figure of Christ on the cross, dying for the sins of man. Dying for his sins too, if Ricky thought about it.

"That was quite a story to hear." There was no inflection to Tinsley's voice. Ricky stiffened slightly. 

"It was quite a story to live in," he admitted, finally turning to look at the detective. His head was bowed, tufts of feathered blond hair were falling in front of his eyes as he stared at loosely folded hands. What little expression Ricky could see looked pensive. "Anything else to say?" Tinsley huffed a sigh, and raised his head. 

"What do I say?" he asked. There wasn't any blame, or really anything negative in his tone, beyond a gentle curiosity that was better than his last sentence. It still gave Ricky chills. "That's a lot more than you originally told me." 

"Excuse me for not divulging my entire life story to a perfect stranger," Ricky snapped. Said divulgence and lack of reaction was beginning to put him on edge. 

"But I'm not just a perfect stranger now, am I?" This time Tinsley did turn to face him, and there was something unreadable in his blue eyes. "You hired me to find Artemus Ogletree, which makes acquaintances at the very least. Not just strangers." Ricky raised an eyebrow. 

"Is that what you're really upset about?" Again, Tinsley sighed, his hands fidgeting restlessly in his lap. Ricky was seized by a bizarre impulse to simply grab them, to still the fidgeting with his own steadiness. He did no such thing.

"I have a very specific moral compass," Tinsley admitted. "I've always lived by the adage that people are inherently good, and I always try to tap into mine. And right now, I don't think that's a philosophy that we share. And I don't know if that means we can continue working together. Not the way you want us to." 

"Because I was the other man in a couple romantic problems?"

"Because I know Louise," Tinsley said bluntly, standing. "And I respect her. At the moment, I know I like you, but I don't know if I respect you." Ricky stood too. 

"So you ask me to tell you the full truth, and now that you've heard it and you don't like it, you're going to stop looking for a man that could have been abducted by the same people who might have hurt children?" Ricky struggled to keep his voice low. Nobody who was here praying wanted to become aware of an argument regarding his less than honorable life. 

"I'm saying I need time." Tinsley looked like he was having the same problem Ricky was. "Not to find Ogletree, but to figure out how much I want to be involved in all of this mess. With you." He looked down guiltily as he said it, as if it was a horrible thing to say, and Ricky sat back down. Another long silence between them, in which Ricky felt that his head was filled with white noise that prevented any concrete thought from forming. He heard the sound of Tinsley turning to leave, before it stoped abruptly. When he looked up, the detective was holding out a small card in his pale hand. "In case you ever need to call me." And with that he was gone. Ricky mouthed the words on the business card, the name and the phone number. Maybe Tinsley hadn't entirely forsaken him. 

He stayed in the pew for a while after Tinsley left, staring at the shining wood and trying to figure out where exactly his life had become so unnecessarily tangled and complicated. 

"You're troubled." Ricky looked up to see one of the sisters staring down at him. He made room for her to sit, and dipped his head. She was older, with laugh lines etched around a mouth and kind eyes, which were a warm brown. He couldn't see much else due to the habit she wore. 

"That's the short version." It wasn't like him to be so flippant in a church, but it had been one of those days. 

"Is there a longer version?" the sister asked.

"I coveted that which was not mine," he said, choosing to omit the more salacious details he had shared with Tinsley. "And in doing so I hurt some people." He clasped his hands tightly in his lap. "I know that...my story, my time with all these people, it's done now. It's over. But..." This time it was the sister who placed a hand over his. Her skin was warm and dry. 

"But?" 

"But I still feel the guilt." Ricky didn't tell her that most of the guilt was towards Tinsley's reaction, to losing something when he wasn't even sure what it was in the first place. "Sister, why do I still feel guilty?" She looked pensive for a moment, and then patted his hand, a knowing glint in her eye. 

"It means that your story with these people is not yet finished." And in spite of his earlier words, Ricky had a sneaking suspicion she was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, this is being posted on Friday instead of Thursday, mostly because I was traveling back from Tahoe yesterday and I was exhausted. But expect the regular Monday/Thursday posting schedule to be back!


	11. Unsolved?

"Until then, the mysteries of whether these disappearances are the work of men or aliens will remain...unsolved." Ryan threw his pen down triumphantly, leaning so far back in his chair Shane was worried he would fall over. "Whatdya think?" 

"Take out the part with the aliens," he said immediately. 

"Why?" 

"Because it's stupid and not true." Ryan picked up the pen, and immediately threw it at his face. Shane ducked. "I do like how you're going with dramatic unsolved after the ellipses." Ryan beamed, and Shane couldn't help but smile back. 

"I'm gonna make that a trademark of the column, I think," the other man said excitedly. "Like, not a licensing 'I'll sue you if you use it as well' type of trademark thing, but a symbol of our brand." Shane felt a laugh bubble up in his throat. 

"You're-you're gonna make little mugs and little t-shirts with 'ellipses unsolved' on them?" he wheezed. Ryan made a similar noise. 

"Well when you put it that way..." The shorter man began to laugh in earnest, as if what Shane had said was the peak of comedy. He couldn't help but laugh alongside him, maybe because it was late, or maybe because they had come back from _Bobby Mackey's_ and the drinks they'd gotten there were still messing with their heads. Which would make Shane somewhat embarrassed, because he'd only gotten one beer, same as Ryan, and he liked to think he wasn't that much of a lightweight. But they laughed anyway, because it had been slightly warmer than usual today and they'd finally finished this latest column of _Unsolved_ and because why the Hell not? 

The laughter died down eventually, and Shane leaned back in his chair. He looked over the freshly written column, sticking his tongue between his teeth. "You ever think about doing follow ups on this stuff?" 

"Hm?" Ryan hummed absently. 

"Like, on some of the more recent cases we do," Shane clarified. "Go back, see if there's new evidence. Like with the Sodder case-" As if it had been flipped on with a switch, Ryan groaned, leaning his elbows forward so that they touched the desk. 

"You've been going on about that for hours-"

"You heard what they said at _Bobby Mackey's_!" Shane cried indignantly, leaning closer to his companion. "That thing's still going on, strong as ever! They found a new PI, and everyone's into it now, even that guy who owns it!" Ryan had that same look on his face as he had during their initial 'Bigfoot is real' conversation, one of consternation and confusion and the slightest hint of exasperation. It felt refreshing to be on the receiving end of that look for a change. 

"Listen, I know you wanna investigate the Sodder case," he said slowly, "because you've been talking about it ad nauseam-"

"Oh, big word." 

"Shut up Shane. But here's the thing. We're not a member of this whole thing." Ryan said this very evenly. "As the dedicated founders of _Unsolved_ , we have a responsibility to chronicle what we learn, but not to get involved." Shane was now leaning so close to Ryan that the back legs of his chair had lifted off the floor. Ryan did not lean back. 

"Doesn't being a reporter not also entail investigating when we can, so that we have the freshest leads and make sure no one beats us to it?" 

"Shane, no one else does a column like this!" Ryan cried with exasperation. "There's no one to beat." The legs of Shane's chair slammed down on the floor, mostly because he was worried that if he leaned any further forward it would simply give out from under him. 

"Don't tell me you're not intrigued too." Ryan made a spluttering noise. "I see you, whenever you think there's a possibility of ghosts or aliens or one of your little ghoulie specters roaming the Earth. So go on, tell me. Tell me you're not the littlest bit curious, that you don't wanna try and figure this out. I know how your frantic little brain works, and something tells me you can't say it." Ryan was silent, and Shane folded his arms, triumphant. 

"Fine," the shorter man admitted. "I did hear a tip, and I have wanted to check it out." 

"A tip?" There was an exaggerated quality of surprise in Shane's voice. "What kind of tip, Mr. Bergara?" 

"Shut the fuck up Shane." Ryan was smiling almost in spite of himself. "I heard these two guys talking at Bobby Mackey's earlier. Some excitable blond guy and the owner, the Hispanic one. They think that they saw Artemus Ogletree-"

"The first detective?"

"Shut up Shane! Yeah, the first detective, going into this motel on the outskirts of town." Ryan glanced around furtively, as if he expected someone to jump out and execute him here and now for this doubtlessly sensitive information. Shane refrained from telling him he looked like an idiot. "So if they think it's important enough to check out, it's probably pretty important." 

"Did you get the name of the motel?" Ryan nodded. Shane clapped his hands together triumphantly. "Then it's settled. We're gonna go there. Tonight." 

"What?" Ryan squeaked. 

"It's time we conquer your fear of everything," Shane insisted. "And we're gonna do that by satisfying our mutual curiosity and figuring out why that motel tip is so important." Ryan shook his head ruefully. 

"Oh Ryan, he murmured to himself. "Why do you always get yourself caught up in these situations?" Something about the way he said it made Shane laugh, a wheezing sound that echoed in the room.


	12. A Corner To Be Rounded

Selena wanted to sing more opera. Which was commendable, certainly, and Ricky knew she was good at it. But that wasn't the issue. The issue was that Ricky's club was in the business of pandering to a certain type of clientele, and not many of them particularly enjoyed opera. They liked smooth jazz, and they liked when Selena sang smooth jazz, and they didn't want to be hearing an aria composed by Mozart. It also didn't help that Ricky felt distracted and on edge, as if the littlest thing would set him off and plunge him into the blackest of moods. 

"Look," he said, splaying his hands almost helplessly as he turned to his star attraction again. "I'm not saying you can never do anything associated with the genre ever again." Selena raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. She was a pretty girl, with tanned skin and big eyes and long dark hair, and a pretty round face that could alternate between sweet and sultry in a heartbeat. Ricky had a soft spot for her. It was why he was trying so hard to be patient now. 

"Just not while I work for you," she finished sardonically. 

"That's not what I said." He was about to elaborate on what he said when the door banged open, signaling the arrival of what was likely an enthusiastic customer. Ricky turned, ready to tell them that he was very sorry, but they wouldn't be opening until tonight, because Sundays were off during daylight hours. Except that when he turned, Ricky didn't see a random customer. He saw Tinsley, feathered blond hair in disarray and blue eyes wild. The detective promptly crashed into one of the tables, fell to the floor, and picked himself back up again as if this was a regular occurrence. Maybe it was. Ricky absentmindedly waved Selena away, and heard the clack of her heels as she exited, leaving the two alone. 

"Ricky!" Tinsley was so excited that he was practically careening off the walls before he got to the dark haired man. "You're here. That's great!" Ricky resisted the urge to reach out and try to steady him. He opted instead to cross his arms over his chest. 

"I own _here_ ," was his response. Tinsley nodded, still looking excited. "What exactly are you doing here?" It wasn't said in a mean way, as a way to be cruel, but out of genuine curiosity. Ricky had been sure that Tinsley was done with him after he'd heard about Artemus. Having him here felt almost surreal. 

"I'm here to see you." He said it as if it was the most natural thing in the world. The glare of the lights suddenly seemed like too much to Ricky, and he moved away, gesturing for Tinsley to join him in the shadows. The detective did just that. 

"It's been days." Ricky tried his hardest not to sound like a scorned lover. "I told you the truth about Artemus in the church days ago, and you promptly said you couldn't respect me, and then left. And then you were mum, for days. I thought the message was clear." 

"What message?" Tinsley looked so innocently curious, so wide eyed and clear gazed, that something in Ricky tightened. 

"That you were done with me," he responded. Tinsley sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. He dropped his eyes, shifting his weight from foot to foot. In contrast, Ricky remained still, his shoulders tense. Tinsley looked back up at him, with an expression on his face that Ricky couldn't read, though he tried. The detective gnaws on his lower lip, before nodding. 

"I told you I needed time," he admitted. "But do you remember what else I said?" He didn't give Ricky time to answer, stepping forward. "I told you that I believe in better nature. That I believe in human goodness. And I believe in your goodness to." Ricky sucked in a breath. "You made a mistake. A cruel and stupid mistake, but I don't think that you're either of those things. So I've decided to remember the philosophies I've believed in all my life," he smiled slightly, dropping his arms, "And give you the benefit of the doubt again." The silence enveloped them like a blanket following Tinsley's speech. Ricky imagined that this was what feeling the grace of God was like. 

"Thank you." It was a whisper, but Tinsley heard it, because he gave a real smile this time. It looked good on him. 

"So can I tell you why I came?" 

"Please." Tinsley got a conspiratorial look about him, a slyness to his grin that kindled a flame of excitement in the pit of Ricky's stomach. He leaned forward as the detective lowered his voice. 

"Cooper pulled through," he murmured. "I told him to keep an ear out for anything relating to Ogletree or the Sodders I might need to know, and he gave me a tip yesterday." 

"On who?" 

"Ogletree." Ricky stuffed his hands in his pockets, feeling his fingers begin to shake. Maybe it was because everything had been nothing but blank slate after blank slate, but even the prospect of a possible tip was enough to energize him. "Cooper knows someone who saw him check into a motel, yesterday, a little ways outside of town. And apparently, the slippery little man has yet to check out of said motel, or even leave his room, according to Cooper and his sources. So-" Without waiting for a response, Ricky spoke. 

"Take me with you." He said it so desperately that Tinsley did a visible double take. "Please." He'd been waiting for what felt like an eternity for a tangible lead on Artemus's whereabouts. He had to be there in case this one panned out.

Tinsley took his hand. It wasn't the featherlight flutter of the church, the delicate venturing of someone who was unsure whether the touch was welcome. Tinsley's fingers, long and pale, had a steady grip on his, firm and reassuring, making Ricky feel grounded. Making Ricky feel safe. He reciprocated it, fingers curling around Tinsley's, perhaps a bit tighter than necessary, but with that same affirmation that he had no plans on letting go. Tinsley had a sympathetic look on his face, but not just sympathetic, interspersed with amusement and understanding and companionship. The blond strands of hair falling across his face caught the light, reminding Ricky of straw spun to gold. His blue eyes shone. 

"Of course." His tone brooked no argument, not that Ricky was inclined to give him one. "You're coming with me tonight to this place, and we're finally gonna get somewhere." There was a fierce determination etched on his face, one that didn't look remotely out of place. "Tonight is the night we find Artemus Ogletree." 

"Together?" Tinsley's grip tightened, and so did Ricky's. He smiled again. 

"Together."


	13. Motel Hell

"I'm gonna die." They stood at the edge of the motel, the neon **NO VACANCY** sign flickering off their faces. Shane looked determined. Ryan looked on the edge of death. "This is it. I'm gonna die for the fans." 

"You don't have any fans." 

"Shut up Shane." His voice shook, and his hand tightened around his flashlight. "I'm gonna die and it's all gonna be your fault." Shane scoffed, though he did move closer to Ryan, as if in comfort. 

"Dude, listen," he said sympathetically. "You're not gonna die. This place doesn't even look that scary." 

"That's bullshit dude," Ryan answered, waving his hand wildly. "Look at it!" They could see the lights of the city, if they looked to the left, but they weren't in the city. They were a little ways out, on some dusty road that gave the place a very dry feel, almost like a decaying summer, even though it was the freezing dead of winter. Nothing appeared lit, or even occupied, beyond the blazing **NO VACANCY** sign, and it felt less like a motel booming with activity than it did like an abandoned haunted attraction. There were no cars anywhere beyond Ryan's, no human voices heard, nothing beyond the sound of wind through the trees beyond. Ryan was terrified. He took a breath. 

"Let's go inside." He was terrified, yes, but he was also determined, just as Shane was. He wanted to know more about Artemus Ogletree. He wanted to investigate, despite his protestations about being the recorder of events, not a main player. And the only way to get what he wanted was to go inside the creepy motel. 

"You're sure?" Shane sounded legitimately surprised at Ryan's moment of bravery. 

"Hell no," was his answer. "But I want to. And I've got to." Shane's laugh sounded more like a wheeze. 

"There's no need to be so dramatic." Even so, he put a reassuring hand on Ryan's shoulder. "Let's just go in that main office there, ask around about this Ogletree fellow, and see if we can at least know if he's here, if not find him ourselves." Ryan nodded, the movement jerky. For once **_(_** as this was not the first time Shane had convinced him to go somewhere creepy **_)_** he took the initiative, stepping forward and walking towards the building first. He had his flashlight clenched tight in his hand as he knocked. No one answered. He knocked again. 

"No one's answering." 

"I can see that." Shane reached over and knocked himself, as if somehow worried that Ryan hadn't done it right. "Maybe they're asleep or something. Let's just go in, see if we can wake them up." Ryan was about to protest, but then stopped himself. His tall friend has a point. They weren't going to get anywhere if they stood outside, knocking endlessly, for the rest of the night. He grabbed the doorknob and twisted, pleased to see it turn. He pushed the door open. "Whoa, what the fuck?"

There was no one in the office. In fact, the office was completely pitch dark, and smelled faintly of dust. The only source of illumination was Ryan's flashlight as the door closed on them. The noise made Ryan jump. It didn't look as if it had been inhabited by anything human for weeks, maybe even months. It felt like the only things living there were ghosts and dust. It had a feel of abandonment to it, just like the entire place. Ryan hated it. 

"Umm..." Again Ryan's voice shook. Shane himself seemed at a loss for words. Neither of them had expected this place to be nearly as creepy as it is. "So, we should...Um, we should-"

"We should look for a registry," Shane said decisively. In the wash of Ryan's flashlight, he looked ghostly white, and his lips were pressed tightly together. He didn't look nearly as scared as Ryan felt, but he didn't look very excited at the prospect of spending more time here. "See if there's even a record of Artemus Ogletree at the world's creepiest pit stop." Ryan managed to muster up a smile. It made him feel slightly better. 

"You take the desk, I'll take the drawers." They moved, Ryan opening every single drawer he could, rifling through all folders and papers he could find. A lot of it all seemed like nonsense, as if they were all just there for show. All of them seemed to be meaningless to the investigation at hand, with nothing to prove there was any documentation of Ogletree's stay, if he even stayed. Up on the desk, it didn't look as if Shane was having any better luck. He appeared to be tearing his way through everything that wasn't glued down on that desk. So far, he had succeeded in making something of us, moving leaflets and pens around and looking under staplers and paperweights for anything that might be a clue **_(_** methodical in his search but careless in his execution **_)_** as to Ogletree's whereabouts. Shane growled in frustration, before turning to a cabinet just right of Ryan. 

"Hey dude!" There was a tint of excitement to his voice, devoid of the nervousness from previous words. Ryan stood, his knees stiff from crouching and searching. "It's locked." Something sparked in Ryan's chest. 

"Why?" In the glow of the flashlight, Shane gave him an exasperated look. 

"How the fuck would I know, Ryan?" was his response. He gave a yank on the handle. The cabinet rattled but did not budge. Ryan tried the same, and received the same results. He placed his flashlight in his mouth-"You look like an idiot right now" Shane wheezed-and prepared to try and pry it open with both hands. Without warning, the door banged open. 

Ryan screamed, loud and full of fear, the flashlight dropping from his mouth and rolling on the floor. Shane had a hand to his heart, an expletive coming from his lips. Ryan felt as if he was either about to wet himself or faint. The flashlight, still on and still moving, illuminated the pair that had just come in. One was taller, rail thin with messy blond hair poking out of a hat, wearing a beige trench coat, his hands outstretched as though about to surrender. His companion was darker haired and darker skinned, with a scarf and pea coat that both looked black in the flickering lights and shadows. His hands were in his pockets, and he looked unconcerned, irritated even. Ryan's heart was pounding in his chest. 

"Who are you?" This was the shorter stranger, who stepped forward, allowing the door to close behind them. Ryan darted forward to grab the flashlight, and then retreated behind Shane, who had used his bizarrely long legs to take a step forward, as if attempting to shield Ryan. 

"Who the fuck are you guys?" he asked in return, pointing to the two of the strangers. "We were here first." The taller man laughed slightly, removing his hat. His eyes were wide and innocent looking enough. 

"I don't think that's how it works," he said, his voice not unkind. "I'm C.C. Tinsley. This is Ricky Goldsworth." He indicated to his companion, who gave a simple nod. Ryan started. 

"Charles Cecil Tinsley?" he asked. "The private detective?" Tinsley winced slightly before nodding, and the man who was apparently Ricky Goldsworth turned to him with a smile. "And you!" The flashlight beam was turned to Ricky, who squinted at the glare. "You own _Bobby Mackey's_!" 

"Oh, we love that place," Shane interjected. Ricky looked unsure whether to take that as a compliment. 

"What are you two doing here?" Tinsley said, taking a step forward. "And what were your names?" 

"I'm Shane Madej, and this is Ryan Bergara." 

"The guys from the _Unsolved_ column?" So apparently one of the people mentioned in the column read the column. Ryan wasn't sure how to feel about that. "Much obliged. But again, what are you doing here?" 

"We're investigating a tip about Artemus Ogletree that I think I overheard from you guys at _Bobby Mackey's_ this afternoon," Ryan blurted out. Shane glared at him. Tinsley's only response was a nod. Ricky looked almost affronted. 

"Did you find anything?" the latter asked, fidgeting with his scarf. This time it was Shane who answered, with a simple shake of his head. 

"Not yet." He was more taciturn than Ryan would have been. 

"But we've got a cabinet that we can't open," he interjected. Again, Shane turned to stare at him incredulously. 

"What-what're you doing?" Ryan grabbed his arm and moved them both further into the darkness, a little ways away from the other duo, who had begun sharing confused glances with each other. 

"Listen, I'd really prefer having a detective here who knows what he's doing." He nodded towards Tinsley. "Because this place is scary and something feels off and I'd feel more comfortable if there were two giants I can hide behind instead of one in case a ghost pops out and tries to eat me or something." Shane rolled his eyes, but his expression softened. "Plus, I bet Tinsley has a gun." The confusion was back on Shane's face. "It makes me feel secure." 

"I hate to interrupt?" Ryan and Shane turned to Tinsley, who, to be fair, did not necessarily looked like he was the type to carry a gun, but he was tall. "But where is this locked cabinet?" Shane pointed it out, and Ryan, pleased to see that there appeared to be a working together of sorts, hone the flashlight in its direction. They all converged, Tinsley with a long, thin piece of wire in his hands. 

"Is that a bobby pin?" Ricky asked. Tinsley did nothing but shrug, fishing the possible bobby pin into the lock and jiggling it. He had his tongue stuck between his teeth, and a furrow between his eyebrows, when they all heard a loud click. Ryan jumped slightly, before realizing that meant the cabinet was now unlocked. In an instant, the other three were rifling through the contents while Ryan illuminated them, before Shane emerged with a triumphant "Aha!" and a leather bound ledger. He laid it on the desk, flipping it open. 

"Guest registry?" Tinsley asked. Shane nodded. They all crowded around as Shane flipped through the pages until he landed on a list of current guests. 

"The place looks totally filled up," Ricky said, pointing out names. He was right. Thirteen slots for thirteen cabins, each one with a name etched into them currently, and none of them were as strange as Artemus Ogletree. George, Jennie, Louis, Betty, Martha, Jennie again...The only thing odd was the complete lack of last name on almost all of the guests.

"Oh my God." In the beam of the flashlight, Tinsley looked sick. They all turned to look at him. "I recognize these names." 

"But they're...they're really common names," Ryan pointed out. Tinsley shook his head. 

"Maurice, George, Sylvia, Marion..." His voice pitched a bit higher. "These are the names of everyone in the Sodder family. All twelve of them." Ryan's blood ran cold. He didn't have the names of everyone in that family memorized, but Tinsley had been actively investigating this case. He would know. Which meant that either they were very much on the nose, or they were all about to die. He gulped. 

"But who's this?" Shane pointed to the last name, the one jotted down next to Cabin 13. "Roland T. Owen? That's not a Sodder member, is it?" Tinsley shook his head as Ricky sucked in a breath. 

"That's Louise's father's last name." Shane and Ryan shared an equal look of confusion, one that had only one question: _Who the Hell was Louise?_ Tinsley looked confused, but for different reasons. 

"So couldn't this just be him then?" Ricky shook his head. 

"Apparently both of her parents have been dead for years," he explained. "This is a pseudonym. I'm guessing for Artemus." Ryan's heart jumped and thudded unevenly. "He's here. Cooper was right, we were all right. He's at this motel." 

"A really sketch motel with some sketch things about it," Shane pointed out. Ricky appeared very close to exasperated, running a hand through his dark curls. He opened the door, allowing the faint light of the **NO VACANCY** sign to wash over them, adding way too much of a scare factor than Ryan wanted. 

"I'm going to Cabin 13," he said simply. "The three of you are welcome to join me, or wait here, or leave." And with that he was gone. The remaining men exchanged a look, before Shane gave a nonchalant shrug. Ryan was seized by a moment of bravery. They were this close to finding something, something big, and he was not going to sit back and wet his pants and watch it pass him by. He was going to grab this night by the reins, and discover a puzzle piece to this bizarre jigsaw. 

"Let's go." His voice was decisive as he upped the brightness on the flashlight and marched out the door after Ricky, followed swiftly by Shane and Tinsley. Cabin 13 was the last one, far enough away where the **NO VACANY** sign was barely able to illuminate anything, and they were relying almost solely on the flashlight. And then, just as Ricky reached for the doorknob, it flickered and went out. Without warning, it simply stopped working, plunging the foursome into almost compete darkness. Ryan felt Shane move closer to him as he tapped on his equipment, trying desperately to get it to turn back on. No dice. He hit the light hard against his knee. He twisted it around. No dice. "Let's just go in and find a light switch." He forced his voice to remain steady. 

The door creaked open, and they entered, barely noticing when it closed again. It was dark in the room, and had a cold feel to it, as if nothing had lived in it for at least 24 hours. Ryan could see the faint outlines of his companions, the tallest one **_(_** presumably Shane **_)_** groping along the wall for a source of illumination. Moving forward, Ryan felt his knee smash into a desk, and heard something wobble atop it. He moved to catch it, and felt the umbrella of a light in his hands. His fingers explored wildly until the switch, and with a sigh of relief, flipped it on. 

The wallpaper was an avocado color, the carpet a rough looking beige. There was a picture window framed with kelly green curtains, and a small bathroom next to the main bedroom area. There was a desk, the desk Ryan had bumped into, with one drawer, a pad of paper and a pen on top, and a black lamp. The bed was a single, with one off white pillow and a blue and green duvet. It was a small room, befitting of a shoddy motel with a sketch past. But when the lights flipped on, it wasn't the room that made Ryan scream again, that made Shane yell out every curse word he knew, that made Tinsley gag, that made Ricky flatten himself agains the wall with a hoarse yell. 

On the bed, surrounded by blood that had dried and stained the blue and green duvet, was the body of a man. He was facedown and naked, with pale skin and black hair that had once been slicked back but was now clearly mussed. There were livid marks on his wrists and ankles where he had been bound, and his head was bent at an unnatural angle. Every inch of his skin seemed to be covered in cuts and bruises, all recent enough to be violently purple and blooming red, and blood had spattered onto the bumpy ceiling, onto the avocado wallpaper, dripping down onto the carpet. 

Swallowing audibly, Tinsley took a few steps forward, placing a shaking hand on the corpse's shoulder. Ricky moved forward next, and both men had their backs to Ryan as the detective turned the body over. Ryan could see the face, with black eyes staring up blankly, nose broken and teeth missing, cheeks bruised and face and hair matted with blood. There was another mark on his neck where someone had tied something around his throat. Ryan didn't recognize the face, but he knew who it was almost instantly. Because Ricky was gripping Tinsley's coat with greater pressure each passing second, the knuckles on his hand white, shoulders trembling fiercely and knees beginning to buckle. The two reporters shared a look, equal measures shock and horror and fear. 

They had found Artemus Ogletree. 


	14. American Flag Lights

The night was awash in the colors of police lights, ambulance lights, sign lights, flashlights, red white and blue and white again and then some, mixing together like a kaleidoscope. For this motel, which Tinsley had only expected to be a dead end, was now a crime scene, as chaotic as anything ever found in the city. The cabins were flush with police officers, yelling commands at each other, spreading caution tape about, moving about like ants on a hill, methodical and with a purpose. The ambulance was currently being loaded with a stretcher, on which was borne a black bag that contained the body of Artemus Ogletree, who's place of death was being examined by men in rubber shoes and rubber gloves. Police detectives were there as well, now moving on to interviewing Shane Madej and Ryan Bergara after having exhausted answers from Tinsley and Ricky. 

Tinsley was fidgeting from foot to foot, arms folded and fingers tapping against his wrist. He itched to do something, to figure out why what had happened had happened, and what could be done about it. Ricky, on the other hand, was stock still, arms at his side, head hanging and eyes staring blankly at the ground. Like Tinsley, he was probably hard pressed to get the picture of Artemus Ogletree, beaten to death, out of his mind. Unlike Tinsley, he'd had a place in his heart for Artemus, a place that couldn't be filled because, well, because he was dead. Tinsley raised his hand as if in comfort, before stopping himself. He wasn't sure if Ricky wanted it. 

"Are you-" Ricky shook his head before he'd even finished. Of course. That was an idiot question on Tinsley's part. There was no way Ricky was anywhere near all right or OK, not when they'd just found the person he'd been desperate to find a bloodied mess. "Sorry. Dumb question." Ricky turned to look at him, his eyes glassy. 

"You know, I always thought he'd be alive, at least," he said dully. "Maybe in bad shape, maybe in horrible shape, maybe as bad as we saw in there..." He swallowed, and his shoulders twitched slightly. "But I'd never thought that there would be a scenario where he wouldn't be alive and breathing. Where he'd jus be gone." There was no hesitation as Tinsley his hand between Ricky's shoulder blades, rubbing a soothing circles with the pads of his fingers. Ricky leaned into the touch, paintbrush lashes fluttering shut. He seemed close to leaning his head on Tinsley's shoulder-something Tinsley would have let him do without hesitation-when they were both startled by the screech of car tires. Some sleek, black thing had just pulled in by the motel, and its two passengers were exiting with rapid urgency. 

One was a slim man, with dark, slick hair, a straight nose, and a dark dusting of facial hair along his jawbone and under his nose. He was dressed nicely, in a tweed suit and had an air of purpose about him. He walked over to the nearest police officer, and began talking, looking what gave to be orders. Tinsley had no idea who this new man was, but he knew the companion, who had stopped by the ambulance, still with its door opens, to stare at the black body bag, then turn away with her lids shut tight. It was Louise. Her eyes were open now, and she'd locked in on Tinsley and Ricky, making her way towards them swiftly. Ricky stiffened. 

"What the Hell are you two doing here?" she hissed, gaze flicking from one to the other. Tinsley hoped Ricky wouldn't respond and provoke an argument, but Ricky wasn't the type to hold his tongue.

"Trying to find the man you said was just running off," he answered fiercely, leaning forward. Louise scoffed, shaking her heard as if Ricky had said something delusional. 

"Well that's all well and good, but why bring the reporters?" Her arm flung out to gesture to Shane Madej and Ryan Bergara, who appeared to be engaged in a very active conversation with Louise's suited companion. 

"Scared everyone's gonna find out that you screwed up?" Ricky sounded almost vicious. "Scared people will know you were wrong? Let me spell it out for you: you.were.wrong." Louise took a step forward, and so did Ricky, so Tinsley took a step between them. The last thing this night needed was for anyone to be embroiled in a physical fight at a murder scene.

"Ah, Ricky, maybe you shouldn't-" Louise cut him off. 

"Bringing reporters to your little investigation means that every front page is going to be plastered with story of Artemus being found beaten to death!" Her voice wavered dangerously, a show of weakness and mourning no one had expected, and that alone seemed to deflate the tension. Ricky backed off, his shoulders slumping. Louise turned away, passing her hands through her hair for a moment. Tinsley decided it was safe not to be in between them anymore, and returned to Ricky's side. 

"Who'd you bring?" he asked softly, nodding to where Ryan and Shane were still in a passionate discussion with the suited man. 

"Don." She didn't even look in his direction. "My brother," she added for clarification. "I got the call, he was with me, he offered to drive me." Tinsley nodded as the attorney turned to him. "Have they told you anything?" 

"Artemus was the only guest here, despite the ledger being filled." He could still feel the cold hand of dread on the back of his neck, the one he'd felt when staring at that awful ledger, filled with child names save for the one given by a dead man. It also didn't help to think of Artemus Ogletree, beaten and bloodied and killed, alone in this godforsaken motel save for his murderer. Had he screamed? Had he known no one would hear him? 

"What does that mean?" 

"I think it means that Artemus didn't come here accidentally," he admitted. "I don't know how exactly, or even why, but I'm pretty sure that being here, being killed here," both Louise and Ricky winced slightly, "Might have been some kind of a trick. A setup of sorts." Ricky's brow furrowed over his dark eyes, as if trying to solve a complicated equation in his mind. "Does something about that not make sense?" 

"I can get behind there being some ulterior motive that got Artemus here," Ricky said. "But set ups typically involve duping someone, having the person being set up being in the dark." Tinsley nodded. "Artemus is-was- a private investigator. A good one. Whatever else he was, he was good at his job." Again Tinsley nodded, this time his hand ghosting along Ricky's shoulder. The other man didn't shrug it off. "If he was being set up, there's no way he wouldn't have figured it out. He would have known what was going on." 

"He came here to die." Both men turned to stare at Louise, who appeared to be staring at the row of cabins, possibly searching for Cabn 13. She turned back to them,  unperturbed. "If Artemus knew he was being set up, and knew it was a set up that wouldn't end well, then why wouldn't he try to get out of it? Why stay at a motel that's completely empty save for him, with what should be a growing inkling that things are about to take a turn for the worst?" She sucked in a deep breath, shifting from foot to foot. "He knew how it was going to end, and he went along with it anyway. I think he came to this motel to die." There was a moment of silence as it began misting, not enough to make that big of a difference, but enough to add an extra chill, a dampness that seemed in place with the mood. 

"I've got to find these kids." Both Louise and Ricky snapped to look at him, pictures of confusion. 

"Huh?"

"What?"

"Think about it." In spite of himself, an urgency creeps into Tinsley's tone, and he leans closer, as if about to tell a deep and dark secret. "Sodder family thinks their kids go missing. Sodder family hires a private detective to figure this out. Private detective goes missing. Private detective is found dead by other private detective, in a motel with a ledger filled with the names of all the Sodder children. None of these are coincidences. I think that whatever happened to those kids, whoever's responsible doesn't want it to be found out, and certainly doesn't want it to be traced back to them. So he killed Artemus to prevent him from getting the answers, and left all of this," Tinsley flung his arm out to indicate their surroundings, "As warnings to anyone trying to connect any dots."

"What does that mean for you?" Ricky's voice shook slightly. 

"It means I've got to find them. I've got to understand whatever happened to them, before things go wrong for me." Instantly, Ricky grabbed at his arm so that the two were facing each other. For the first time, his dark eyes were completely unguarded, and they swirled with an almost childlike, primitive panic. His grip was harsh and unrelenting, despite Tinsley's initial attempts to pull away. The skin was white around his lips, and his shoulders were tense. 

"Give it up," he demanded fiercely. "Don't go after these kids. Let this fade into obscurity and an _Unsolved_ column read on rainy days."

"Ricky-"

"What'll happen if you don't figure it out? Or whoever this is, whether it's someone random or the mob or that doctor Cooper told us about, comes after you, and kills you just like Artemus?" His words were stringing together in one stricken jumble. "You have to let this go, Tinsley, or something awful might happen to you, and I-" Whatever Ricky was about to say got lost, because Louise held up her hand, giving Tinsley an intense look. 

"No." Ricky looked at her incredulously. 

"No?" 

"No." She stepped towards Tinsley, staring up at him. "If you think this has something to do with those kids, you have to pursue this. You have to find them, and bring this all some form of justice." What had caused this sudden shift in tone, Tinsley wondered. Louise had once told him the idea of anything other than the public story was a pipe dream, a myth in the minds of grief stricken parents. Why was she now so determined to see things the way he did, to demand the justice he himself had been clamoring for ever since the Sodders brought their case to him. He was just about to ask for more information when Don appeared, almost like a mirage, placing a hand on his sister's shoulders. 

"We should go." His voice was soft and low, and up close Tinsley could see that his eyes were marbled black. He held out a hand to Tinsley, ignoring Ricky completely. "Don Owen." Tinsley shook it. 

"Pleasure." For some reason, some animalistic instinct, he felt as if he shouldn't give his name to this stranger, even if he was related to Louise. She, in turn, shrugged off her brother's hand, and walked away swiftly back towards the car. He followed, strides in perfect tandem. Tinsley watched them leave as the rain began to fall in earnest now, as if the sky itself was weeping for all the unfortunate circumstances that had befallen them all since the Christmas fire at the Sodder home. 


	15. A Cry In The Dark

The rain and lessened a bit by the time they got back to the city. It was still falling, but not the degree that would require an umbrella. Don parked the car, and the two of them sat in silence, listening to the patter of the rain on the car roof. Louise didn't look at him, wasn't even facing him, elbow leaning against the car window, knuckles against her lips. There were thoughts, swirling in her head at a million miles an hour, and she had no idea what to do with them. 

"The police aren't going to be a problem." Don's voice was soft, almost a whisper. Louise nodded. “Any thoughts on what to do next?” She scoffed, shaking her head ruefully before looking over at her brother. 

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “I just want to be alone.” Don furrowed his brow, as if the idea of her wanting some time away from him, from the chaos of the night, was something completely out of the realm of ordinary. 

“Louise-” She stopped him by holding up her hand, sharp and swift. 

“Please.” Without waiting for an answer, for permission, she wrenched open the car door and stepped out, slamming it back as she went. Louise waited on the curb. The car didn’t move for a while. It felt as if they were in a stalemate for a while, two siblings on opposite sides of the same side, in some bizarre and twisted way, in different places of the same area. The car pulled away swiftly, and disappeared into the dark. 

It was dark as she opened the door, with the only source of illumination coming from the street lamps below her windows. Louise didn’t attempt to flick the light switch on in the first few moments. She shrugged off her coat and placed her keys on the table by the door, leaning back against the wall. It felt good, just for a moment, to let her shoulders slump, to allow herself a moment to relax after the rigidity that had been required of her all night. More than tired, more than exhausted, even, Louise scrubbed a hand over her eyes, letting her head drop. 

"Rough night?" Louise cried out, whirling around with a hand on a pounding heart. There, just a shade to the right of the window, was a shadow, barely visible unless you were looking for him. She forced herself to slow her breathing, to steady herself, to pretend that she wasn't necessarily as wracked with nerves as she was. In all likelihood, he wasn't fooled. 

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, crossing her arms over chest. The shadow moved slightly, and in spite of herself Louise stiffened. 

"I was in the area." Like Hell. "And you didn't answer my question." The shadow moved into the light, closer, so that Louise could finally see actual physical features. His hair, gray, had gone a bit longer, a bit wilder, and there were more thin lines on pale and sallow cheeks, frown lines on his forehead. His mouth was small and cruel, his eyes small and cruel and a pitiless black, and he gave the appearance of a specter determined to rip you to shreds. _Dr. Fear indeed_ , Louise thought wryly. "Rough night?" 

"Yeah." Louise scoffed, and in a brief moment of bravery, took a step forward. "But you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?" Fear lifted a shoulder casually. "Why're you here?" 

"I need to know how much of an issue this is about to become," he said bluntly. "About what measures need to be put in place to make sure it doesn't get blown up to full size." Louise's eyebrows hit her hairline. 

"Go ask Don," was her response. "Or any number of law enforcement you've got in your pocket." 

"Like you?" 

"I am _not_ in your pocket." This time it was Fear who took more than just a step forward, several steps forward. Either it was a testament to her courage or to her stupidity that Louise refused to back up, or even lean away from him. 

"Aren't you?" That was what made Fear so effective, so completely terrifying. In all the interactions Louise had ever had with him, he had yet to raise his voice. Instead everything was said in this quiet, contemptuous murmur, as if he knew his listeners would be hanging on to ever word, that they couldn't afford to not be paying attention. It was why, each time he spoke, a shiver of both nervousness and revulsion went down Louise's spine. It happened again now, and she hid it as best she could, pinching the bridge of her nose with her thumb and pointer finger. 

"As far as I know, it's contained," she said resignedly. "Your people have the whole thing under control." Fear nodded, apparently satisfied, but didn't smile. Louise wanted to usher him out of her home, away from her, but something in the air indicated the conversation was not yet finished. 

"And the others?" She furrowed her brown in confusion. "The men who found your lover's body." 

"Not my lover anymore," Louise corrected, but again her pulse sped up. She knew exactly what he was talking about. Tinsley and Ricky and the _Unsolved_ boys, Ryan and Shane. Everyone at that crime scene, her and Don included, could easily just be agents of Fear's design, but not them. They were the outliers, the odd ones out, the liabilities. The reporters could publish, the PI and his man could investigate. They could make life a lot harder for Dr. Fear and the secrets, whatever they were, that he wanted so desperately to keep. Louise fought to keep her voice steady. "What about the others?" 

"Are they going to be problems?" Fear asked. Louise had a nano second to make a choice. She didn't know Ryan Bergara and Shane Madej all that well. Tinsley she liked well enough, even respected. As for Ricky...She had her grievances with him, that harkened all the way back to this maddening situation. But that didn't mean she wanted to subject any of them to the mercy of a psychopath, throw them to the flames and sic a bloodthirsty wolf on them. Tell the truth and jeopardize four innocent men **_(_** three, technically, because Ricky Goldsworth was no innocent **_)_** , or lie and suffer if she was found out. 

"No." It rolled smoothly off her tongue; she was a lawyer after all. She might as well put professional liar as part of the job description. "They don't know anything." 

"Anything?" Fear sounded incredulous. "You're sure?" 

"Positive." Louise twisted her fingers together to prevent them from shaking. Fear took another step closer, close enough that he could look down on her with cold, hooded eyes. 

"They don't know how it could connect to you?" 

"No." 

"They don't know how it could connect to me?" 

"No!" 

"They don't know how it could connect to the Sodder case?" 

" _No!_ " She painted the yell as exasperation, of which there was some, but most of it was the beginning pricks of nerves. It was a dangerous game she was playing, on so many different levels, and she felt raw and exposed while doing it. Fear reached out and cupped her cheek, and for the first time Louise flinched sharply, trying to twist away from his grip. His fingers tightened harshly. 

"Keep it that way." The threat was so heavily implied it might as well have been explicit. "Because remember, if things get out of control, I can wash my hands of the business easily. You? This'll bury you. And then, after the dust has cleared? _I'll_ bury you." Louise straightened her spine and said nothing. Fear smiled, at long last, a smile full of teeth and cruelty. Louise bit down on her lip as he pulled away, brushing past her to get to the door. "Remember that, Louise. They'd have an easier time charging you for murder than they would charging me." She wanted to scream, to cry out that she hadn't murdered anyone, that she hadn't laid a hand on the corpse formerly known as Artemus Ogletree that night, that she had no personal responsibility in any of this, or at least that she shouldn't. 

"Lock the door on your way out," was what she called out instead, voice acerbic, turning her head slightly so her chin was to her shoulder. She heard the click of the door, and the turn of the lock, and immediately her legs gave out, sounding her down to the floor. And maybe it was just how exhausted she was, or how scared, or how completely unbelievable this entire situation was, but for the first time in a long time, Louise began to cry.

The rain continued outside her window all the while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just how involved _is_ Louise with Dr. Fear and his machinations? Leave your thoughts in the comments!


	16. Stay The Night

They called it shell shock, back in the day. Shell shock, where soldiers fighting in the war were so traumatized by what they had lived through that they still heard the echoes of it in their civilian lives. No, that wasn't right. Shell shock wasn't right. It shouldn't be called that, not when it talked about nightmares and flashbacks and visceral things. Shell shock should be what it felt like when a bomb went off inside you, thousands of shard of emotion that left you as if you were feeling everything and feeling nothing at the same time. That was the way Ricky felt now, as if he was simultaneously experiencing every emotion and feeling completely numb in tandem. It wasn't obvious, with his face perfectly blank as he followed Tinsley up to his apartment. But it was true. 

Ricky kept seeing the body in the back of his mind. Artemus's body, beaten and bloodied and bruised and dead on the bed, flickered behind his eyelids, a constant visual refrain. He didn't want to see it, but it was there, taunting him. It told him, _You should have found him sooner, you should have fought harder to figure out where he was, you should have done something_. It told him, _You're responsible for this_. Ricky wanted to tell it to take a long walk off a short pier. But he couldn't, so he followed Tinsley into his small apartment, the apartment he'd broken into, the apartment that had started it all. 

"This place really is small." Ricky's voice sounded awful to him, completely toneless, and Tinsley, who had just finished shrugging his coat off, seemed concerned about it. Ricky forced himself to focus on minute details. The blinds always drawn on the window behind the desk. Tinsley's suspenders, pulled tight over his white shirt. The sound of the rain outside. It allowed Ricky to keep his breathing steady. 

"I like that it's small," Tinsley admitted. "Allows me to feel focused, like I'm consolidating everything into an efficient space." Ricky nodded, looking around. There were a few doors, likely leading to other rooms, bathrooms and bedrooms and kitchens and even potential living rooms. He'd only ever really been in one area of Tinsley's apartment. 

"That's good." Ricky hadn't taken anything off, standing awkwardly. Tinsley's brows furrowed. 

"Ricky..." He took a step forward, and Ricky took a quick step back, holding his hand up. Tinsley stopped moving. Ricky huffed out something as a laugh, with a slight note of hysteria in it. 

"Don't." Ricky fought very hard to make sure his voice didn't shake at all. "Now...now's not the time for me to talk about this. About any of it. Not...not now Tinsley." The detective didn't move forward again, but he did lean in slightly, as if the lack of physical proximity to Ricky was physically painful. 

"Then when is the right time?" he asked, voice soft and kind. "I saw what you saw, in that motel room. I barely even knew the guy, and I'm having a hard time trying to shake it out of my mind." Ricky turned away slightly. "I..." For the first time since they had met, Tinsley appeared to be at a loss for words. What was he trying to do? Seek comfort, or offer it? Give advice, or look to receive it? Ricky ran a hand through his curls before crossing his arms tightly over his chest, leaning back on the heels of his feet for a moment. 

"What are you going to do?" It was an open ended question, with a variety of interpretations. Ricky himself wasn't even sure what he meant when he asked it, beyond that he was curious. What would Tinsley do? What did he want Tinsley to do? Did he even want Tinsley to do anything? The blond sighed, licking his lips briefly. 

"What I said I would do back at the motel," he responded simply. "I'm going to spend my entire time finding out what happened to those children until I get to the bottom of this. I have to." Ricky's blood felt cold, and the numbness entered his voice once more. 

"So you're going to obsess yourself." It wasn't a question. "Like Artemus?" Tinsley scoffed slightly, as if Ricky had said something amusing. 

"Hopefully not," he commented dryly. Ricky could understand that, given Artemus's recently revealed outcome. "But I'm not going to stop. I can't." Ricky pressed his hands to his mouth, folded together as if in prayer, thinning his lips as he took a breath, pressing them between his teeth. 

"Listen to me," he said slowly. "Let it go." 

"No." 

"Tinsley-!" Ricky stopped himself, forcing the numbness back. "I'm begging you. All right? You follow through on this, and whoever these people are, these people who don't want anyone tracking them, they'll kill you. They'll beat you and leave you in some dark, awful place for your friends to find. Don't do this. Just walk away, and tell the Sodder family sorry, but there's no way to get their children back." 

"I can't." There was a slight flush in Tinsley's face, small spots of red on accented cheekbones. "Someone needs to be there for those children. And it has to be me, because I want it to be me. I can't back out of this now." He straightened his back, a steely look in pale blue eyes. "I won't." Ricky dropped his head in his hands, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. 

"Charles Cecil Tinsley." He said it quietly, testing the words on his tongue. Ricky looked up to his companion, who hadn't changed expression. "It's such a sensible name. Makes you think that whoever must have it would be a sensible guy." Tinsley's nod was barely perceptible. And something in Ricky snapped. No longer was he simultaneously feeling everything and nothing, he was simply feeling everything, and all of it cumulated into a blind rage. His fingers curled into his palm, and he lashed out, his fist slamming into the wall next to him. Tinsley didn't blink. "Are you brain dead?" Suddenly he was shouting, feeling his ribs shake with the force of his voice. "Are-are you stupid, Tinsley? This isn't sensible! This is foolhardy, this is stupid, and it's going to get you killed, you pathetic fool!" Tinsley raised an eyebrow. "And for what? What is this stupid crusade of yours for? Who is it going to help? No one, it's just going to help these psychopaths kill you faster!" His eyes stung, and Tinsley took a step forward. 

"Ricky-" He barely got the name out when Ricky's hands were curled in his shirt, their chests pressed together, as if the shorter man **_(_** though it was only by a slight amount **_)_** were preparing for physical violence. 

"Don't!" His voice was rough, hoarse. He forced himself to lower his volume, but there were unmeasurable amounts of anger in his tone. "Don't expect me to stand here and let you kill yourself by proxy. I won't do it." He felt choked, a sharp lump in his throat, and his vision blurred. Tinsley, seemingly unconcerned, reached up, and disentangled Ricky's fists from his shirt, lowering them to hip level. He didn't let them go, however, but held on tightly, his thumbs rubbing over his knuckles in a soothing motion. There was no offense or hostility in his eyes, but sympathy. The lump in Ricky's throat tightened. 

"I'll take the couch," he said simply, his voice barely a whisper. He inclined his head to his right. "The bedroom's there." Ricky shut his eyes, hard, willing himself back to composure. Tinsley's grip on his hands intensified for a moment. "You're staying here. For tonight, and as long as you need to." With a deep breath, Ricky looked back at Tinsley. They were very close, and something new, something different, fluttered in Ricky's stomach. And then, the detective rolled away, disappearing into another room.

His last words hadn't been a request. Ricky was grateful for it. He shrugged off his coat, and with a deep, shuddering breath, scrubbed a hand over damp eyes and went into the bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy two month anniversary y'all! This chapter's a bit of a filler, but Ricky/Tinsley content, so it should be fine.


	17. Open Shut Open

The sky was clear on the day they put Artemus Ogletree to rest. Still cold, of course, almost symbolically so, but not a cloud to be seen in the sky, and the sun was shining down on them, bouncing off the sea of black and the speckled gray headstones of the cemetery. It was a small funeral, despite the decision to keep it open to the public **_(_** an idea of the police force, to see whether Ogletree's murderer would show himself and revel in the grief he'd caused **_)_**. Louise was there, and Don, and Ogletree's mother, Ruby, all three of them black clad and clearly the chief mourners. Cooper was there, at Louise's right, just behind her shoulder. A little ways off was Ricky, arms folded tightly across his chest. Frequent patrons of _Bobby Mackey's_ had come as well, such as Shane and Ryan, and even Selena had showed up. Towards the back, there was Tinsley, straight backed and trench coat discarded for the occasion. 

Few eyes were dry. Most people were at least teary, save for a select number. Ruby had graduated to sobbing, and Ricky and Louise had the same look on their faces: not sadness, but a fiery rage. Tinsley wasn't sure what he looked at. After all, he knew nothing about Ogletree beyond a rather unflattering story and a gruesome death. Yet at the same time, he stood as a giant warning to Tinsley's potential future. He linked his fingers tightly, allowing the priest's words to fade into the background, and looked around the crowd. He locked eyes with Ricky, whose gaze was burning. They held the stare for a moment, before Ricky suddenly turned and stalked away. A few of the mourners looked back, but Tinsley was the only one who followed, only catching up to the other man as they reached the bottom of the grassy hill. 

"Ricky!" Tinsley caught his arm. "What's going on?" 

"This is bullshit," Ricky snarled. "Holding a funeral, allowing everyone some time, when we should be out there trying to find whoever did this! As if we don't know who did this!" 

"We don't," Tinsley pulled out. Ricky wrenched his arm away with a throaty sound. "We have a guess, but even that guess is vague-"

"Because that..." Ricky groped for the word, his face flushed, "That...stupid family! They won't give you anything, and Lord knows they likely didn't give Artemus anything!" Tinsley grabbed for Ricky's arm again, this time keeping his hold almost painfully tight so the other man couldn't pull away. Ricky didn't struggle to pull away, though he didn't seem any less angry. "I'm sick of grieving. I want to do something." 

"Like what?" 

"Like talk to the family, the Sodder family," Ricky said. "We deserve answers from them, especially if you're going to keep up your determination to live like a crazy person and still find their kids." Tinsley chose to let that particular insult slide; he knew Ricky had yet to fully embrace his need to rescue the Sodder children, consequences be damned. Instead, he raised one eyebrow. 

"We?" Ricky nodded, taking a step forward. 

"We." He shifted, almost uncomfortably. "You think I'm going to let you go this alone?" Tinsley felt almost touched by the sentiment, before turning and realizing there were a few mourners still looking at them askance from atop the hill. With quick decision making, he began to move, near dragging Ricky behind him until they reached Tinsley's car, parked haphazardly at the edge of the cemetery. 

"You want to get answers from the Sodders?" Ricky nodded. "Me too. So let's find them." He didn't wait before letting go of Ricky and opening the car door, getting into the driver's seat in one fluid motion. In a smattering of seconds, Ricky was in the passenger seat. And off they were.

* * *

 

Seeing as their entire home had burned to the ground, Tinsley had taken it upon himself to find the address of where the Sodder family was currently living. It was a small little apartment in a small building in the downtown, cheap and not necessarily the nicest of places. Tinsley felt slightly out of place in his funeral suit. The sun was still shining, but it felt slightly dingier somehow, smoky almost. Tinsley tried not to see the irony in that. 

"What number are they?" Ricky asked. 

"Apartment 4D," he responded, and instantly Ricky was bounding up the stairs, into the building, and then up the stairs again, leaving Tinsley to catch up. Ricky was more determined than he previously anticipated, apparently, and by the time Tinsley managed to get to apartment 4D, he was already knocking on the door. It opened slightly, a chain preventing it from going all the way, and a sliver of Jennie Sodder peered out. 

"Who are you?" she demanded, voice quavering. Tinsley pushed in, moving Ricky out of the way Mrs. Sodder could get an unobstructed view of him. "Detective Tinsley?" He nodded. 

"Ma'am, could you let us in?" Brown eyes darted around, confused.

"Why?"

"We need to speak to your husband," Ricky broke in. Tinsley resisted the urge to shush him. Every interaction with the Sodders had led him to believe they were quiet, reserved people, and not necessarily inclined to share information that they had failed to provide times before. He nudged Ricky out of the way a little more with his foot. 

"I wouldn't be asking if I didn't think it was important." There was a moment of silence, and then the door closed. Tinsley heard Ricky huff a sigh of exasperation before the door opened again, fully wide, chain gone. Mrs. Sodder was in modest clothes, her hair slightly damp, and she stepped aside, allowing them to enter. Just as the door closed, George Sodder came in from a different room, smelling faintly of aftershave. 

"What..." Ricky took a step forward, and Tinsley wrenched him back. 

"Don't antagonize him," he whispered. "They're not gonna give information if you're rude."

"I'm not planning on being rude." Ricky looked almost affronted that Tinsley had dared assume such a thing about him. Tinsley stepped back, spreading his hands. Ricky moved towards Mr. Sodder. "George Sodder?" Ricky asked. 

"Who's asking?" Mr. Sodder demanded. Already, he looked indignant, and Tinsley felt that familiar flicker of irritation in his chest. For a man so determined to find his family, he was too reticent when asked for information. It grated on his nerves. "Who's barging into my house demanding my attention?" Ricky looked around contemptuously. 

"Well, this isn't really a house, is it?" Mr. Sodder started forward, and instantly Tinsley was beside Ricky, a hand partially extended as if to ward off the angry Italian. 

"We're not here to insult you, Mr. Sodder." He gave Ricky a pointed glance. "But we do need to talk to you." Mr. Sodder raised an eyebrow. "We need you to give us all the information you have. Everything you might have withheld, or decided not to tell me, that needs to be done." 

"What makes you think I haven't told you everything?" Again, a flicker of anger, and Tinsley forced himself not to show it. They had the rest of their children in this apartment, no doubt. It wouldn't do to cause a scene. 

"I know you haven't." Mr. Sodder flushed deeply, and even Mrs. Sodder became steely. 

"You're calling me a liar." It wasn't a question. "You invite yourself into my home, attempt to harass me in my home, coming from God knows where-" 

"You want to know where we came from?" Ricky demanded, voice shaking slightly. "Do you remember your first hire, Artemus Ogletree? We just came from his funeral." The Sodders' jaws dropped. "He's dead. Beaten to a pulp, trying to find your children." Mrs. Sodder clapped her hands in front of her mouth. "He didn't have all the information, and look what it got him." 

"You're acting as if we killed him," Mrs. Sodder pointed out. 

"You basically did." Again, Mr. Sodder moved as if to physically assault Ricky, and this time Tinsley put himself in front, squarely between the two. Mrs. Sodder had a deeply offended look on her face, and her husband had gone from a mere red to maroon. 

"Whatever this is you're trying to hid, it's a strong likelihood that Ogletree's efforts to get it are what signed his death warrant," Tinsley explained. "And in all honesty? If you choose to lie to me again, as you did the last time I asked you for transparency, you will sign your children's as well." Mrs. Sodder made a faint whimpering noise. "Their blood will be on your hands, and you will have no one to blame but yourselves." His voice got louder towards the end, and when he finished speaking, everything erupted. 

Mrs. Sodder opened her mouth as if to yell at them, and behind him Tinsley could hear Ricky draw a deep breath in preparation to yell back. But it was George Sodder who surprised them all, with a deep bellowing _"You son of a bitch!"_ , reaching behind him and drawing a gun. Mrs. Sodder screamed, and Ricky cursed violently, and Tinsley, for some reason, did not immediately flee, but stayed between Mr. Sodder and his friend, both of his hands out in front of him. He was shouting too, trying to get the man to lower his weapon, and Mrs. Sodder was doing the same, all while her husband waved the damn thing around as if about to shoot them all. The sound of all the voices was deafening, with Mrs. Sodder's pleading and Tinsley's urging and Mr. Sodder's insults. Finally, he settled on a target. 

He pointed it directly at Tinsley's head. 

"You're saying this is my fault?" he demanded, voice filled with rage. "That I did this? That I should be blamed for the fact that something has happened to my children? For the destruction of our home? Our lives?" He had yet to pull back the safety, and Tinsley refused to flinch. 

"That's not what I'm saying," he replied evenly. "You love your children. You wouldn't have fought so hard to get us to realize something was wrong. But your decisions are going to be detrimental to the fate of your children." Silence. Neither man blinked. Brown eyes into blue, nobody dared to move, to breathe, waiting to find the inevitable outcome. Finally, it was George Sodder who caved, who conceded a type of defeat. He lowered the gun. 

"Leave." It was an order, not a request, and he stalked away. Mrs. Sodder gave both Tinsley and Ricky a burning glare, before following her husband. Instantly, Tinsley turned around, gripping at Ricky's sleeve. His legs felt weak, like they might give out. Ricky's hands were on his elbows, supporting him, eyes searching his face. Tinsley nodded weakly, answering the unspoken question: _He was fine._

"That went well," Tinsley said dryly. Ricky scoffed. The detective straightened himself, and released his hold on Ricky, patting him in thanks. Ricky ran a hand through his dark curls, exhaling sharply. "Let's go." He nodded, and they both turned to leave before Tinsley felt a tug on his pant leg. He looked down into the dark eyes of a young girl, barely three years old, toddling uncertainly on short legs. Sylvia, he knew instinctively, the youngest of the Sodder children. Tinsley crouched down to her level. "Yes?" She leaned in close to his ear. 

"Le Corone D'Oro," she whispered, and despite the foreign origin, her young tongue didn't trip over the words. And then, she left, unsteadily walking away. Tinsley straightened up, and beckoned Ricky outside at his look of confusion. He closed the door; the sound echoed in the empty hallway.

"She said Le Corone D'Oro." He tried to pronounce the way Sylvia Sodder did: **lay-coeroenay-doeroe.** Ricky's brow furrowed. "You know what that means?" 

"No, not at all." He cast his dark eyes downward, rubbing at his jaw. "It's not in a language I recognize, anyway, and I have no clue what it could represent. This was the only thing the little girl said?" Tinsley nodded. He met Ricky's eyes again. 

"Whatever this is, it's our next lead to follow." And once again, they were off, walking shoulder to shoulder, hot on the heels of this newest mystery.


	18. Selena's Assistance

Tinsley was decidedly apathetic about libraries. He didn't hate them; he didn't love them. They were libraries. They fulfilled the purpose they were intended fulfill when built, and most times functioned the way they were supposed to. Tinsley used libraries, on occasions when he couldn't gather the information he needed himself and needed the help of outside sources. Such as now, when neither he nor Ricky had any idea what Le Corone D'Oro could possibly mean, or even what language it came from. They also had no idea how it related to either the kidnapping of the Sodder children, or the death of Artemus Ogletree. That hadn't stopped them from spending at least multiple hours combing through the library.

"I've got something!" Ricky thumped a relatively heavy book down on the table, jarring Tinsley out of his reverie. He blinked, before reading the cover. _Italian-English Dictionary & Thesaurus_. 

"You think it's in Italian?" Ricky shrugged as Tinsley grabbed at the book, beginning to flip through the pages. 

"It sounds like a Romance language, but none that I've heard. So that rules out Spanish. But it sounds close to Spanish, and I got to thinking, what language sounds a lot like Spanish? Italian." Tinsley thought about resisting his impulsive urge to throw his arms around Ricky, and then promptly did it anyway. Ricky appeared to be stunned, though he did manage to pat Tinsley awkwardly on the back. 

"You're a genius," Tinsley said happily, before moving back to the book. If he had turned around, he would have noticed that Ricky had a very strange expression on his face. Instead, he had stumbled on something. "I've got it!" Ricky leaned forward, palm braced against the table. "The...Ehm, the Crown...Crowns...of Gold?" The two men looked at each other, the previous joy of their step forward having given way to confusion due to this step back.

"The Crowns of Gold?" Ricky had somehow managed to both raise his eyebrows and narrow his eyes in one expression. "What the Hell does that mean?" Tinsley shrugged, scribbling the words on the same piece of paper that housed their Italian counterparts. 

"I have no idea," the detective answered. "Maybe we translated it wrong." 

"Or maybe we were stupid to think we could get a legitimate tip from a two year old." Tinsley shrugged again. Perhaps some people might think it foolhardy that he was hinging much of his current case on a toddler from the town's shadiest family. But children heard things, and often repeated what they heard, with no predisposition to edit or lie. He trusted Sylvia Sodder more than he trusted her father. 

"Or it's another piece of the puzzle that we've got unravel," he said, hoping to find a positive spin on this. "We've just got to figure it out. See if there are any books here that talk about crowns of gold and whatnot." 

"Tinsley-" Ricky cut himself off and took a breath. "That's extraordinarily vague." The detective was about to respond when he noticed someone walking towards them, and promptly clammed up. Secrecy was starting to look like a better idea in these recent weeks. 

"Ricky?" It was the pretty singer from the bar, with her tanned skin and her cocoa bean colored hair and painted lips. Selena, Tinsley remembered she was called. Ricky straightened, plastering a smile on his lips. 

"Selena!" He sounded genuinely affectionate, and for a moment Tinsley had a hard time figuring out whether it was faked or not. "It's lovely to see you! What're you doing here?" 

"I come here often," Selena explained, extending a well manicured hand for Tinsley to shake. He shook it, muttering his name as a greeting. "I like libraries." Tinsley nodded as if that made perfect sense. "What about you two?" They looked at each other for a split second, blue on brown. 

"Oh, just some research that's been a bit puzzling," Tinsley said vaguely, waving his fingers about. "I'm trying to figure something out, and I've hit something like a dead end. Ricky's been kind enough to help me with it." That sounded innocuous enough. Selena moved around to their side of the table, leaning against its side, head tilted inquisitively. Next to him, Ricky had stiffened slightly. 

"Do you need any help?" 

Ricky would have wanted him to say no. Ricky was becoming increasingly paranoid about this case, seeing as how Artemus had died and Tinsley had nearly been shot by an irate George Sodder. Ricky would have brushed Selena's assistance off, kindly but firmly, of that Tinsley was sure. But Tinsley also knew he needed all the help he could get. He was finally getting somewhere, finally able to begin unraveling threads and begin weaving a story on the loom. Ricky's reticence was his own prerogative, but as long as C.C. Tinsley was in charge of this investigation, he would accept aid whenever offered. 

"Please," he said firmly, tone brooking no room for argument. Tinsley thought he heard Ricky sigh quietly. He gestured Selena closer. "I found this phrase a while ago, and I just got it translated to this. Le Corone D'Oro to The Crowns of Gold. The thing is, I have no idea what that refers to." Selena leaned down to the piece of paper, her tongue sticking out slightly between her teeth. 

"I'll be right back," she said suddenly, before dashing off. Instantly, Ricky rounded on Tinsley. 

"This is a bad idea." 

"She's being helpful." 

"What if she's working with those people?" 

"She works for you!"

"She could be double timing-" 

And just like that, Selena was back, ending Tinsley and Ricky's hushed argument. Under her arm was a very thick volume, which she slammed down on the table with a very impressive noise. Tinsley jumped slightly. Selena flipped almost feverishly through the pages, until she landed on something. 

"Aha!" She beckoned Tinsley and Ricky closer. "I found this book on Italian history a while ago, and I think I might have something of an answer for your Crowns of Gold mystery." 

"Please elaborate," Ricky said, clearly curious in spite of himself. 

"All right, so, a very long time ago," Selena began, "And I mean, medieval times long time ago, there was this secret sect of the wealthy elites of Italy, and they called themselves what we nowadays would translate to Le Corone D'Oro." 

"The Crowns of Gold." Tinsley's voice was hushed. 

"Yes. Apparently, these people were like the secret society controlling everything they could. They were the Mafia before there was a Mafia, the Illuminati if the Illuminati theories had stayed sane." Tinsley nodded, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest.

"What happened to it?" he asked. 

"Either it died out or went underground," Selena concluded. "There's no record of it starting from the Renaissance, but a lot of people in this book seem to think it might have changed names or gone deep undercover. I don't know why you'd be hearing about it here though," she added, a line of confusion appearing between her eyebrows. "There's no record of it existing anywhere in America." 

"No one in the entire country has claimed themselves affiliated with this Crowns of Gold thing?" That was Ricky, who seemed torn between belief and incredulity. Selena gnawed on a nail for a brief moment. 

"I think, about ten years ago, there was a man affiliated with a high murder suicide that ended up going to court over it," she said, tapping her fingers against the pages. Her pinky hit a beautifully drawn picture of Florence's Duomo. "He said something about being a part of Le Corone D'Oro, or knowing about it, or something?" Ricky moved so that he was directly in front of Selena now. 

"Do you know anything more?" he demanded. She shook her head reluctantly. 

"It's all sealed court cases." She sounded legitimately disappointed she couldn't be of more help. "If you wanted them, maybe try talking to that lawyer who shows up at the club sometimes." Louise, a voice sang in Tinsley's mind, and Ricky's gaze went dark. Selena waved before leaving, tucking the book under her arm as she went. 

"Thank you for your help!" Tinsley called out, sitting down at the edge of the table. "That was useful."

"But where do we go from here?" Ricky asked. Tinsley shrugged with a sigh. 

"Well, we can't talk to the lawyer like she suggested." Ricky scoffed. "Louise hates you, and I think she's a bit busy these days." Again, Ricky scoffed, this time with less humor and more cruelty. Tinsley twisted his fingers around, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. And suddenly, an idea came to him. A beautiful and impossibly stupid idea, one that was potentially dangerous. He grabbed Ricky's hand, an almost involuntary reaction now, as normal as breathing. "Remember when we first met?" Ricky furrowed his brow. "We could recreate that." Instantly, Ricky's confusion melted into a sly smile, and he nodded, a sparkle in his dark eyes. He knew what Tinsley was saying, and his smile said one thing back: they were agreed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not exactly sure when this update is coming for you guys, but new chapters are gonna be operating on a weird timeline for a while, since I'm back in Italy. Just so y'all know!


	19. A B&E Once Again

Apparently, breaking into the courthouse was harder than previously anticipated. Quite possibly because their security was a bit more updated than Tinsley's front door, and it was considerably darker during the dead of night than it would be in the afternoon. And Ricky was having trouble with the lock. 

"Do you want me to try?" Tinsley asked, shifting the flashlight from hand to hand. Ricky shook his head, though he did turn around to give the detective an unreadable stare. 

"I'm good, thanks Charlie." Tinsley grimaced with an audible noise. 

"You know, I've told you that no one calls me Charlie." Ricky laughed, returning his attention to the lock picking endeavor. "It makes me sound like a twelve year old boy. Tinsley works just fine for me." Ricky drew breath as if to respond, before hissing in frustration as the door refused to budge. Tinsley moved forward, crouching beside the dark haired man, shining the flashlight closer. So far, it appeared that they were having no luck finding their potentially helpful court documents. Ricky huffed, pressing his palms against his thighs. 

They had been trying their hand at this for a while. There was a security guard that roamed around, but there was only one of him and he was fairly slow, easy to avoid. Ricky was the one who had suggested the side door, and at the time everything had looked good. But so far, Ricky had proven unable to unlock the door, and Tinsley's main experience with lock picking usually involved bobby pins, which didn't seem nearly sophisticated enough to break into a government building.

"We're going to be caught by that security guard before we get this door open," he griped. Tinsley placed a reassuring hand on Ricky's back. He leaned into it almost as if subconsciously. 

"No, we're not." He sounded more decisive than he actually was. "We just have to move faster." 

"Or smarter." The both of them stood and whirled around, Tinsley's hand tight on his flashlight and his heart pounding. Standing with her arms folded across her chest and sporting a disdainful look was Louise. Behind her was Cooper, dark rings under his eyes and hands shoved into the pockets of his coat. The both of them looked as if they had been watching a somewhat amusing movie. 

"The Hell?" That was Ricky, who seemed torn between legitimate confusion and exasperation. "What are you doing here?" 

"I work at the district attorney's office. I spend about thirty percent of my time here." That was a fair point, and Tinsley would concede to it. He still felt on edge, due to both the unexpected arrivals and the fact that Ricky and Louise's last face to face conversation had involved at least one potential blow up. He was in no mood to repeat that. "Cooper and I were taking a walk when we saw what looked like two lunatics," she gesture at Tinsley and Ricky, "That would be the two of you, trying to break into a government building." 

"That was a while ago," Tinsley pointed out. "So what, you've just been watching us struggle to properly break the law and didn't do anything?" 

"It was funny." Cooper didn't bother to hide his smile. "I've never seen someone fail at being a criminal before." 

"That's because you worked with half of the county jail's current population." Cooper shrugged at Ricky's response. "What are you two going to do? Perform of a citizen's arrest and get us sent off?" Attorney and informant looked at each other for a moment, as if having a telepathic conversation. Ricky furrowed his eyebrows at Tinsley, who spread his hands helplessly. Finally, Louise took a step forward. 

"Move." Stunned, they complied, watching in open mouthed silence as Louise produced a key from her purse and put it in the lock, twisting it until they heard a click. Tinsley gaped. 

"What?" Louise turned back to them, leaning her hand against the doorknob, pushing the door open with her weight. "You've got a key?" 

"Again, thirty percent of my time." That didn't do much to explain anything, but the detective didn't feel like pushing it. "So yes, I've got a key. Now, what are you two looking for?" Tinsley struggled for words for a moment. No, Louise had not been unhelpful, but she had never painted herself as a sympathetic member of the cause. She had told him, at the motel, that he should pursue leads about the Sodder children, yes, but had never given any indication she would help. But, just as with Selena, he would not resist help when offered to him. 

"Some files about an old court case that could help with the Sodder children." Ricky made a _tcha_ sound. Both Louise and Tinsley shot him a look. Tinsley's said, _Don't make a scene, we needed help and here it is_. Louise's said, _Shut the fuck up_. She turned to Tinsley next, and nodded her head in the direction of the hall. 

"Follow me." They did, Cooper moving to get ahead and next to Louise, ducking his head to talk to her. Tinsley strained to hear fragments. 

"I thought you hated them," Cooper said, jerking his thumb back at Tinsley and Ricky. 

"I actually quite like Tinsley." He felt mollified. "He's a good guy. And as for Ricky..." A pause. "There's no point holding a grudge over a dead man. I'll have to get over it eventually." Cooper's fingers fluttered along her shoulder, as if he wanted to offer a comforting touch and was yet hesitant to do so. 

"Just as long as you know what you're doing." Tinsley couldn't see her face, but he imagined she smiled. 

"Don't I always?" Tinsley turned his attention away from them to focus on Ricky, who looked like he was just barely able to hold back whatever he wanted to say. Tinsley moved closer to him. 

"Out with it." Ricky didn't hesitate, grabbing Tinsley's arm and pulling them to a stop.

"Listen, I trust you," he said frankly. The detective felt a brief thrum of something up his spine. He enjoyed having Ricky's trust. "You know I do. But are you really sure it's wise to let Louise in on this, when we're not even all that sure about her?" Tinsley resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and went back to walking. His friend followed him. "She hasn't given us any reason to trust her."

"She also hasn't given us any reason not to trust her," Tinsley pointed out. Ricky didn't say anything. "Look, I know you don't like her, and we know she doesn't like you. But she's being helpful, and so you two need to get over that." He let go of Tinsley to cross his arms over his chest. "I mean it." 

"I know you mean it." Tinsley raised an eyebrow. "Doesn't mean I have to like it." Ricky smiled just enough when he said it that Tinsley was able to breathe easy, and usher him towards the room Louise was currently unlocking. He felt a brief flicker of fear, an unwelcome reminder of the last time he had accompanied three people into a darkened room. After all, just because he had moved on to a different missing persons case didn't mean he wasn't still affected by the last one. This time however, the light was flipped on with merciful quickness, and there was no beaten body for them to discover. Just rows of file cabinets, meticulously marked and organized. 

"OK, so these are organized alphabetically based off of title of the case or nicknames assigned to it, and to my knowledge they go back at least thirty years, maybe more." Louise turned around, clapping her hands together smartly. "So, what are you looking for?" Tinsley rubbed his palms together. 

"A case involving someone possibly affiliated with a murder suicide who said he was affiliated with Le Corone D'Oro." He stumbled over the foreign words. Louise looked confused. 

"The what now?" 

"It means the Crowns of Gold," Ricky answered. That didn't appear to do much to smooth out Louise's wrinkled brow. 

"All right then." Cooper took the lid off one of the boxes, flicking through the files. "Let's get started." Tinsley and Ricky shared a glance before turning to Louise, and then the four of them were off, sorting through files and boxes and papers until they found what they needed to find. It was tedious work, and not work that Tinsley was at all inclined to enjoy, but there was a strange comfort to being helped. Not just by Ricky, but by a not so friendly acquaintance and a virtual stranger. It alleviated some of the loneliness Tinsley had felt since finding Ogletree's body. It reminded him that maybe he wasn't as alone in this investigation as he had thought. Not when he had help. Not when he had partners. _Not when he had Ricky_ , a voice in the back of his head reminded, as he sat shoulder to shoulder with the dark haired man, speed reading through multiple years of court documents. 

Tinsley's eyes flitted from one sentence to the next, before he suddenly stopped and backtracked. There, almost buried in a paragraph, was the verbal equivalent of the Lost City of Gold: Le Corone D'Oro. 

"Got something!" he yelled, no doubt startling his three companions. Grabbing the file and the box it had come from, labelled LCD, he stood, clearing a table and spreading things out. Ricky and Louise and Cooper gathered around him. 

"You found something about your creepy cult?" Cooper asked. Ricky held up a hand. 

"We don't know what it is, let alone if it's a cult." The ex-con scoffed, running a hand through his hair. His eyebrow was perfectly arched, the rest of his face completely neutral. 

"It sounds like a cult." Ricky looked almost affronted. Louise nodded, mouthing _It does_ quietly. Ricky turned away with a huff, and Tinsley fought his smile.

"Let's get back to the task at hand?" They all turned back to look at the original file. Tinsley leaned forward, index finger under the sentences as he read. "Mark Fullman claimed that, despite his potential involvement in the Garret-Bryce murder suicide as an instigator, he bore no responsibility. Fullman said he was acting under orders of another man, who worked for an agency Fullman identified as Le Corone D'oro, dubbed in all future records as the LCD (it should be noted that no such agency, organization, or group has been found to exist)." Tinsley hesitated slightly. "When pressed, Fullman resisted the reveal any further information, stating only that this 'superior' of his for the LCD identified himself as Dr. Fear (likely an alias) and that he pressured Fullman into manipulating Frank Garrett towards the eventual murder suicide that would claim his life and that of Linda Bryce on..." 

Tinsley would never find out when Frank Garrett murdered Linda Bryce and then turned the gun on himself, because a slender, long fingered hand had slapped itself down on the page. The hand belonged to Louise when Tinsley looked up, and she had gone an alarming shade of white, her jaw clenched fiercely. "I think that's enough." Her voice was tight. Tinsley stared at the other two in disbelief. Ricky's face had closed off once again, back to hostility. Cooper looked concerned, as if Louise's behavior was a cause for worry. 

"I'm sorry?" Tinsley tried to make sure he didn't sound annoyed. Louise's other hand grabbed him by the wrist and maneuvered him so she could pluck the file away and tuck it into the LCD marked box, on which she had a very tight trip. 

"I said, that's enough. Specifically, that's enough information for you." She put the lid on the box decisively. "Sometimes, knowing everything isn't the best thing." This time, Tinsley was in no mood to placate a potentially agitated Ricky; he was already feeling agitated himself. Louise raised her eyebrow, as if daring him to argue. Cooper still had the worried look on his face, combined with something unreadable. 

"Louise, I need to know about this," Tinsley said, feeling his nails curl into his palms. In a bizarre twist of fate, Ricky placed a calming touch between his shoulder blades, so featherlight Tinsley almost missed it.

"I'm sure you do." She leaned against the box. "But I'm the only person in the room who has an legal right to touch these, let alone read them. And my guess is you weren't about to read all of this in one night. So you would take it home, which would make you a thief as well as a trespasser. So here's how this is going to go. I'm going to take everything pertaining to the case back to my place. If you want to review it, you can call me." 

"You're not serious!" Ricky spat out. Louise turned to look at him, look at them both, but it wasn't with the now familiar loathing she always seemed to reserve for Ricky. It seemed, to Tinsley at least, like the look Ricky had given him when he'd yelled at him about the Sodder children the night Artemus Ogletree had died. A look that said _Can't you see I'm trying to protect you?_ The question, of course, was what exactly Louise was trying to protect them from. Or who. Or whether or not Tinsley was even reading the situation correctly. 

"I'm serious," was her response. "You want these, you come and get these." Ricky started forward as if he was about to make good on that threat right there and now. He stopped abruptly, and took a deep breath through his nose. 

"Why would you go through all this trouble to help us if you were just going to obstruct our investigation?" Louise laughed, a slightly hysterical note to it. Cooper cracked a smile. 

"I feel the need to point out that were were minding our own business when we stumbled across you two poorly attempting to stage a break in," he said, motioning to Ricky and Tinsley with his fingers. "No one made us come over and help you." 

"So what, you did it out of the goodness of your heart?" There was more than a hint of derision in Tinsley's tone. Cooper's mouth quirked up in a smile so slight the detective wasn't even sure if it could be called such. 

"I rarely do anything out of the goodness of my heart." The sentence was cryptic on a Holly Horsley level, and Tinsley resisted the urge to reach out and throttle him. He didn't believe that would be helpful. "And besides, Louise has a point. If someone finds you with files from the courthouse you weren't authorized to take, you're arrested and you can't find those kids. This is the best course of action." Louise nodded, vindicated. Ricky made a sound that reminded Tinsley of a growl. 

"Well gentlemen, it's been a pleasure." She hoisted the box and maneuvered towards the exist. "I'm in the phonebook if you need to reach me." And then she was gone, taking all of Tinsley's very valuable information with her. He stared after her, mouth partially open in shock. Ricky, meanwhile, had rounded on Cooper. 

"You're just going to let her take all of that and walk out?" he demanded, pointing wildly. 

"Yup, and I've got her purse." Taking the aforementioned accessory, Cooper was gone in a flash too, out the door and into the hallway before Tinsley even had time to come up with a retort. He looked at Ricky, who was fuming. Tinsley bit down hard on his lip, keeping a firm clamp on an irritation that could rapidly give way to rage if he let it. 

"That was interesting," he noted. Ricky made another growling noise. 

"I know you said that I have to get over disliking Louise," he said through gritted teeth. "Can I take a rain check on that?" Tinsley managed a smile, putting a hand on Ricky's shoulder. The tension relaxed slightly. "Do you think she'll really let us look at that stuff if we ask her?" Tinsley sighed. 

"I don't know," he answered honestly. "But that's a question for another day. For now, let's just go home." Ricky nodded, and left too, switching the lights off as he left. Tinsley stayed behind for a moment, allowing the dark to envelop him like a thick blanket. He rubbed his tongue over his teeth before opening his mouth. "Dr. Fear." He said it softly, but still a thrum of nervousness moved up his spine. He had no idea whether this was relevant, whether it meant anything or nothing at all, but as Tinsley moved to catch up with Ricky, he had the feeling he had just stumbled on something big.


	20. Watering Hole

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my birthday tomorrow, so this is my present to myself. Also, if y'all expected some answers in this chapter, or in the next one, sorry, but you're not getting it.

_Bobby Mackey's_ was not, by any stretch of the imagination, the only drinking establishment in the city, but it was Cooper's favorite. The atmosphere, the proximity to almost everything in town, it made the establishment Cooper's ideal. He knew why Louise didn't like it, but they were friendly enough that she had made an exception today, not for any lunch meeting or secret information gathering, but because he wanted to buy her lunch. 

"So do you not like this place because of the place in and of itself, or because of Goldsworth?" Cooper asked. Louise, who had been nursing an ice water for the better part of twenty minutes, raised an eyebrow at him. Cooper grinned back. 

"Mostly Ricky," she admitted. "He's been rubbing me the wrong way for a while." Cooper hummed. Louise gave him a look. "Besides, I'm not the one who picked the venue for a very sudden lunch I have yet to explain?" He rubbed the back of his neck, almost self conscious, and it was Louise's turn to grin. 

"You said you wanted this relationship to stay within professional bounds, and I respect that." Louise nodded. "But I wanted to see if we could try our hands at being friends?" He ticked the last half of the sentence an octave up, a question without him even knowing it. Louise's gave softened, in a way that he had only seen just a small handful of times, one that made him think of duck down and silk and candlelight. 

"We are friends." She smiled at him. Cooper was seized with the sudden urge to take her hand. But that was a stupid urge, so he did not take her hand. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, tracing patterns in the wood of the table. The piano player near the stage started a new tune. 

"Then, as a friend, can I ask you something?"

"Shoot," Louise responded, gesturing to him with her hand. 

"When you took those files from Tinsley and Goldsworth..." He groped for the right words to say. "Did you mean it, when you said that you were taking the files to get potential sniffers off of their backs? Or were you bullshitting?" Like an inverted mirror to his actions, Louise leaned forward, elbows on the table, arms folded in front of her. 

"I mean it," she said seriously. "If they took those files, an entire box of files, someone would have found out, and they would have asked questions, and then it would have gotten out to the creeps involved in this, and then bam, Tinsley and Ricky are screwed." Cooper opened his mouth, before Louise cut him off. "Someone's already noticed. And he came by my office to ask about it, and I was able to explain it away by saying I had them to study them for a different case I was working on without lying and compromising my career and my integrity." Cooper nodded slowly. 

"Okay." It seemed to restore the peace between them. "Just be careful," he blurted out, the words tripping past his tongue almost in spite of himself. Louise gave him an odd look. "I've been hearing...whispers, from old contacts of mine." 

"All right then Detective Horsley," Louise mumbled derisively. Cooper looked at her. "Come on, that was a bit melodramatic." He conceded that with a slight nod of his head. "But tell me, what have you heard from the criminal underworld?"

"That the Sodder case is big." It came out of him in a rush. "Bigger than we thought, and it's partially because people are realizing that if Tinsley's so invested in it, it's likely for a reason. And there are people wondering exactly who was involved with this to make it such a big deal." Louise nodded, face closed off. 

"But what does that have to do with me?"

"There's a consensus growing," Cooper explained. "That this is big, but not just that, that it's dangerous too, and that Tinsley is getting himself in some hot water by being so gungho about it, and that it could cause problems. For him, and anyone helping." She raised an eyebrow, and to Cooper's confusion, an acidic, sardonic smile played on the corners of her lips. It was as if she knew something he didn't, something that caused a great pain that could only be combatted with sarcasm and a pretense of normalcy. There had been a small pit of worry in Cooper's chest as he spoke, and it grew. 

"Duly noted." Louise tipped some water back. "I'll be sure to remember that."

"Louise-" There was almost a pleading note in Cooper's voice, and her hand twitched forward, as if to give him a touch of reassurance. It stopped as suddenly as it began. 

"I mean it." This time, she sounded sincere, not bitter. "I'll be cautious. I'm being cautious." Another smile, harder this time. "After all, I took some safety measures with those files, didn't I?" Cooper was about to point out that she may have put herself more squarely in the line of fire with that, before Louise's eyes focused on something behind him. Turning, he saw a well dressed man with slicked back dark hair enter _Bobby Mackey's_ , black eyes settling on Louise. Don Owen, he knew, though this was the first time he had seen the man in person. Louise had gone pale, and looked livid. 

"Are you all right?" She stood suddenly, shoulders tight. 

"Don't follow me." It was a command, as if he were one of her underlings at the office, and yet despite how it chafed, Cooper complied, staying in his chair as Louise strode over to her brother, both of them looking none to happy with each other. He wasn't eavesdropping, but he was watching them talk, clearly arguing, their voices escalating. There weren't many patrons at _Bobby Mackey's_ during the day, and some snippets of conversation floated over, filled with secrets and vitriol that Cooper was having trouble piecing together. 

He was worried. Watching Louise fight with her brother, Cooper couldn't help but worry. Things had changed since the kidnapping of the Sodder children, for all of them, in multiple little ways, but it seemed as if there was something else going on with Louise Owen, something bordering on dastardly. Keeping his gaze uninterested and his stance nonchalant, Cooper strained to hear the conversation, tuning out the white noise and focusing on the two siblings. 

"I mean it," Louise hissed, "Fix this. Now." 

"Lou-"

"Don't!" Louise's flat palm cut a sharp arc between her and Don, fingers parallel to the floor. There was a deep anger on her face, mixed with something else that Cooper couldn't read. "You got mean into this mess, Don. Get me out of it." He opened his mouth as if to argue, and Louise's glare appeared effective enough to silence him before he even began to speak. "That wasn't a request." With a huff and a nod, Don turned swiftly on his heel and made his way out the door. Louise stayed in place for a little while longer, running a hand through her dark hair before returning to Cooper's table. 

He didn't say anything for a while. 

"How much did you hear?" Her voice was tired. 

"Just a bit," Cooper admitted, his own tone low. Cooper shifted so that he was angled towards the lawyer, hands folded firmly on the table. "Louise, what's going on?" She shook her head, mute. "Tell me." 

"Absolutely not." When she looked at him, there was a clear distress in her eyes, and Cooper felt a thrum of fear at the back of his neck. 

"Why not?" Cooper demanded. Louise sighed, almost exasperated, glancing off to the side as if worried Don was about to march back in through the door. "Louise, why can't you tell me what's wrong? And something clearly is." She snapped. 

"Because I can't protect you if you know!" she hissed. A muscle jumped in her jaw. "Do you get that? Some things are secrets to protect people. To protect you." Cooper leveled her with an even stare. 

"It's all right." His voice was soothing, and for a moment he forgot that they were in a public place, where they could be spied on. "Louise, it's all right. Just talk to me. Please?" Louise turned away from him, not as if ashamed, but as if grappling with herself and something he couldn't see, something locked in her mind.

She stared down at the table for a long time, fingers twisting in on each other. Cooper waited, quiet. If she wanted to tell him, she would, and he could see her inching closer and closer to whatever revelation she had stored jus in her mind. Eventually, Louise glanced up at him with red rimmed eyes. On nothing more than pure instinct, Cooper leaned forward, placing his hand over her two. He hoped that it was a reassuring touch. She appeared to deflate slightly, bit down hard on her bottom lip, before seemingly steeling her spine. 

"Can you keep a secret?" 


	21. Vanity Fair

Tinsley was genuinely worried that, one day, Ricky's stubbornness would come back to face him with a vengeance. Ricky was too gung-ho about his convictions, too determined to stick to what he believed in. And that was an admirable quality. Tinsley himself found great pride in his own determination. But Ricky took it to a whole new level, a worrying level. Like now, for instance, when the two of them were back at Tinsley’s apartment **_(_** which Ricky appeared to have taken up permanent residence in; this didn’t bother Tinsley **_)_** going through all the information they had access to. 

It wasn’t much. 

“We’re getting nowhere.” Tinsley ground his teeth. He and Ricky were looking all the evidence they had once again, and once again they had arrived at an impasse. Tinsley knew what they needed in order to advance, it was just procuring what they needed that was proving to be a problem. It wasn’t doing much to sweeten his mood. 

“We’re gonna figure this out,” Ricky said reassuringly, standing and stretching, allowing the bones in his back to crackle and pop. Tinsley winced. “We just need to think harder.” Tinsley shook his head. 

“No,” he said decisively. “No, Ricky, what we need are those files.” It was Ricky’s turn to cue his dissent with a shake of the head, dark curls flopping in front of dark eyes. Tinsley sighed, twisting his neck in order to roll out the kinks. He fixed Ricky with an even look. “We need them, Ricky, you know that.” 

“No.” His tone was decisive and firm. “We don’t need them.” 

“Yes we do,” Tinsley insisted, “That’s why you were so incensed when Louise took them in the first place. You and I both know that we’re not going to get anywhere unless we have that information.”

”We can find it some other way.” Tinsley stood, shoving his chair away from the desk. It made a shrieking noise as the wood grinded on wood. He took a moment to look at the blinds he kept tugged down over the big window, willing himself to find calm in the whiteness of the slats. He turned back to Ricky. 

“There is no other way,” he explained with a forced calm. “That’s what we’ve been doing, looking for some other way. Those files are all that’s gonna get this moving forward. If we don’t get them, I might as well just throw in the towel and disappear with the Sodder family’s money and never speak of any of this again.” Ricky had a wry smile on his face. In any other time, Tinsley might have found that smile endearing, attractive, sexy even. But his nerves were too strung out, his pressure too high. 

“We can deal with this without those files, and without the melodrama.” 

Something inside Tinsley snapped. For weeks, he had been working on this case, this stupid case with all of its confusing twists and turns. Every time he took a step forward, someone or something pushed him two steps. It seemed as if everyone was keeping secrets, everyone was hiding something, everyone was hindering an investigation into the possible murders of children, something everyone should want solved! Tinsley believed in good, he believed in decency, but he felt as if he was in the middle of a great practical joke, full of cruel tricksters trying to turn him upside down and inside out. He was sick of it. 

His fist slammed down on the tbale, a loud and startling noise. Ricky looked at him, dark eyes wide, and opened his mouth to say something. Tinsley made a sharp gesture, a nonverbal command for silence. Ricky complied. 

“We need those files!” Already, his voice was raised. “Do you understand? We need those fucking files! This isn’t up for discussion, because if we don’t get those files? Guess what? The Sodder children are dead! They’re fucking dead, and it won’t be on Mr. Sodder’s head, or mine, or God’s, or anyone! It’ll be on you, and your obstinance!” Tinsley felt flushed, and his chest was heaving. Ricky had a dark look in his eye. 

“So what?” he demanded. “What, we go to Louise on our hands and knees and beg for scraps? That’s what you want to do? That’s what you think will save these kids?” Tinsley made a loud sound of frustration, a singular angry cry.

”Enough!” he shouted. “It is time you get over whatever hang up you have with Louise. Right now. No more moaning, no more bitching, you put the past in the past and leave it be.” Ricky shook his head, an adamant refusal. Tinsley wanted to mirror what Ricky had done to him the night they found Ogletree, just grab the other man by the collar and yell until he was blue in the face. But it seemed that, even in the height of anger, he was more even keeled than Ricky Goldsworth. “I don’t get this, Ricky, I don’t.” 

“What do you mean you don’t get it?”

”It’s your fault!” Ricky reeled back as if stung. “You’re the one who went behind her back, you’re the one who went after a man who was involved with someone else. And you didn’t stop, you told me that. So Louise has a right to be angry with you about it.” Ricky’s face went a deep red. “But I don’t think you have the right to be mad back.” 

“That’s what you think this is about?” Ricky took a step forward. Tinsley didn’t take a step back. “That I’m mad that she’s angry at me about Artemus?” Tinsley nodded. Ricky’s eyebrows hit his hairline. He looked hurt, as if Tinsley’s good opinion was something he valued highly, something he felt he had loss. If he had been less irritated, Tinsley would have told him that the good opinion still stood, he was just very annoyed right now. “You’re wrong.”

”Am I?”

”Louise knew he was missing!” The words exploded out of Ricky’s mouth like gunfire. “She knew he was missing because she’s not stupid, and because I kept on pushing her about it. But not only did she not do anything, she actively prevented an investigation about it.” Tinsley’s brow furrowed. 

“So what do you think that means?” Ricky took a deep, shuddering breath, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. 

“She said that Artemus Ogletree went to that motel to die.” In contrast, his voice was now very quiet. “How would she know that, Tinsley? How, unless she was in on whatever lead him to get beaten to death in some creepy motel?” It was Tinsley’s turn to have his eyebrows turned up. 

“So...” He paused for a moment. “You think that Louise...helped murder Artemus Ogletree, and that now she’s going to do what, exactly?” Ricky gave him a long and measured look under paintbrush eyelashes. Tinsley dropped his gaze. “Oh.”

”I told you I think this is dangerous for you,” Ricky said. “And I’m going to be damned if I let Louise and whatever psychotic murderous tendencies she has play a part in that.” Tinsley sighed deeply. 

“You don’t have any proof of this,” he pointed out. 

“That doesn’t change anything for me.” Tinsley moved closer, and Ricky didn’t back away. His previous anger had evaporated, leaving something deep and gnawing in its place, something he couldn’t exactly name. “I’m not going to let anything like that happen, not to you. And if that means we get by on this without her help, I’m fine with that.” 

“But I’m not.” Another silence, and Tinsley twisted his hands together, long pale fingers interconnected like tangled tree limbs. “Were you in love with him?” Ricky’s head jerked in his direction. “Satiate my curiosity?” Tinsley waited. 

Ricky shook his head. “No.” It was a very soft sound. “No, I wasn’t. I-” He stopped himself at the very last second, biting down hard on his lower lip. The air seemed charged, the way it felt right before there was about to be a lightning storm, when the sky smelled of ozone and the hairs on the back of the neck stood up. Thick, tingling with electricity. Only there was no lightning storm, just C.C. Tinsley and Ricky Goldsworth, alone and together at the same time. “I don’t want anything to happen to you,” Ricky muttered, almost shamefully. Tinsley laid a hand on Ricky’s arm. He hoped it was a comforting gesture. 

“Nothing’s going to happen to me,” he promised. _Famous last words_ , a voice at the back of his mind mocked. Tinsley chose to ignore it. “But I need to know everything I can. So, let go of whatever pride and suspicions you have, and let me call Louise.” The moment stretched out like taffy. 

“Fine.” Ricky didn’t sound happy as he pulled away from Tinsley’s grasp, turning away with an almost defeated sigh. But, Tinsley knew as he picked up the phone, this wouldn’t be a decision they would come to regret. 


	22. Boiling Point

He was wrong. It was a decision he had come to regret. He was regretting it very much indeed, because even the bitterly cold air outside would be less frosty than the atmosphere inside his apartment. An apartment that housed Ricky, who thought Louise was a murderess, and Louise, who thought Ricky was scum, and Tinsley, trapped in the middle. Yes, Tinsley was beginning to have regrets about making the phone call. 

“Have either of you found anything?” he asked, making a humming noise in the back of his throat. Ricky refused to say anything, just kept stubbornly reading whatever he was reading. Louise looked up at the lack of response, and rolle her eyes far into the back of her head. 

“I might potentially have something.” She had been sitting cross legged on the floor for the past hour, but stood now, holding sheets of paper  in her manicured hands. “It could be relevant.” Tinsley moved next to her, leaning over her shoulder to read the information. 

“No recent group found to bear the same moniker as that stated by Fullman,” he recited under his breath, “Though Fullman is thought to have possible connections to the Italian Mafia...” He stopped, and rubbed the back of his neck. “So, what could we get from that?” 

“Well, you said that there’s been no mention of any modern incarnation of the LCD, right?” Tinsley nodded. “Well, if they’re colluding with the Mafia, they could hide behind the Mafia too, and keep their existence a secret.” 

“Ingenius,” Ricky muttered from where he was sitting. Louise turned to him, a muscle jumping in her jaw. 

“Please, Ricky, if you have anything else, feel free to share with the class,” she snapped, beore returning to her reading. Just in time, too, because Ricky looked in her direction, and promptly stuck his tongue out at her back. Tinsley felt a slight headache coming on, and moved towards Ricky. 

“Do you have anything?” he asked in a low voice. Ricky looked up at him, dark curls falling over his eyes. “Because that was actually pretty useful.” Ricky scoffed. “Ricky.” 

“Charlie.” Tinsley winced, and inwardly cursed Ryan from the _Unsolved_ column for revealing that the first C in his name stood for Charles. It was leading to an unfortunate tendency in Ricky to call him Charlie on occasion, which made Ricky sound like Tinsley’s mother. Which was a disturbing thought for many reasons. “Besides...” Ricky stood, thumping his documents loudly on the table. Louise started, and whirled around. “I think I actually do have something to share with the class.” Both Tinsley and Louise moved forward. 

“What is it?” 

“A summary of Mark Fullman’s parole hearing,” Ricky explained. Tinsley’s eyebrows hit his hairline. 

“The guy got paroled?” He turned to Louise almost expectantly, given that her legal knowledge had yet to fail him so far. She just looked at him and shrugged, spreading her hands. 

“Good behavior? I don’t know.” Tinsley groaned, and went back to Ricky. 

“So, apparently Mark Fullman was actually paroled a few years ago,” he nodded to Louise, “For good behavior. And during his hearing, he was asked how he could be a productive member of society. And he lists this Dr. Fear guy as someone he can depend on for a job.” 

“Wait.” Tinsley held up a hand, not noticing that Louise had gotten very still. “The same Dr. Fear he said was a superior of his in the LCD?” Ricky nodded. “How the Hell does that make any sense?”

”Fullman recanted his confession,” Louise said suddenly. “I just read that. Said it had been beaten out of him, and that it wasn’t truthful. So the parole board must not have known that he once said Fear was the reason he ended up convincing someone to murder his girlfriend and then off himself.” Her voice was bitter as she finished. Tinsley, meanwhile, was a second away from literally scratching his head. 

“Dr. Fear...” A bizarre, creepy name. “This guy keeps on popping up. Do they ever find anything out about him?” 

“Well, that’s the thing.” Ricky grabbed at another piece of paper, underlining some sentences with his fingers. “They looked into this Dr. Fear guy. And I mean, really looked into him.” He dragged out the really for emphasis. “And I found this memo that was sent through the DA’s office, and they found nothing on Fear.” Tinsley thought his eyebrows couldn’t go any higher. He was wrong. 

“Nothing?” he asked. “At all?” Ricky nodded. 

“It’s as if he doesn’t exist.” 

“Maybe Dr. Fear is an alias,” Louise suggested. Tinsley and Ricky shrugged in tandem. Bolstered by the mystery, for what felt like the first time in a long time, Tinsley grabbed at another file, with BC&SS printed in bold, red font. He rifled through it for a moment, eyes skimming over the page. Ricky waited patiently at his shoulder. Louise tapped her foot. And then, just like when reading the names of the Sodder children the night Ogletree died, Tinsley’s veins filled with ice. 

“Oh shit.” He straightened his back, trying to shake the shivers from his spine. 

“What?” Ricky looked concerned, genuinely so, placing a hand at Tinsley’s elbow. Almost subconsciously, Tinsley grabbed at it for just a moment before letting go. “Tinsley, what is it?”

”So, apparently there was an investigation into police bribery.” He swallowed against a dry throat. “The LCD gets name dropped, and guess who else too?” Ricky drew himself back, sucking in a breath. 

“Dr. Fear.” It wasn’t a question. “That clinches it. He’s got to be one of the higher ups within all this. If he convinced Fullman to commit murder for him, got him freed off parole, manages to bribe police, what else is he? That doctor Cooper talked about at Bobby Mackey’s? He’s everywhere!” The detective nodded.

“That’s not the only place where he pops up.” This time, Tinsley looked directly at Louise. She stared back, even keeled, expression betraying nothing. For a moment, he wondered whether or not that meant anything. Just as quickly he dispelled the thought. In all the time he knew Louise, he never took her for a psychopath. Besides, he needed her. “Did you know ADA Steve Petrolas?” Her brow furrowed. 

“Somewhat.” 

“It says here that his suicide is the reason the case stalled and ultimately landed in the backwaters of litigation.” Louise nodded, tilting her head at him. Tinsley continued. “Dr. Fear’s name pops up again there too. It says that Petrolas was implicated in the very case he was directing.” Ricky made a huffing sound. “And not only that, there’s speculation that the suicide was staged.”

“Oh my God.” That was Ricky, who made as if to continue speaking when Louise held up a hand. This time, Tinsley did notice that she appeared slightly ill at the thought.

“No.” It was a hard sound. “No, if Steve was involved with something like that, with _someone_ like that, I would have known about it.” 

“Oh please!” Tinsley finally turned to Ricky, who was now openly glaring at the attorney. “As if you’d know, or do anything about it.” She looked livid. 

“What did you just say to me?” Louise took a step forward, and so did Ricky, and Tinsley found himself, once again, moving between his friend and someone he’d managed to anger. 

“Don’t do this.” It wasn’t the time, or the place, but that apparently didn’t matter. What had been building since the discovery of Artemus Ogletree’s body appeared to be exploding, at long last. 

“You heard me.” Louise raised an eyebrow. “And do you want to know what I think?”

”No, not really,” she spat out. Apparently, this didn’t deter Ricky in the slightest. 

“I think you killed Artemus.” Tinsley groaned and dropped his head. Louise’s mouth fell open, and two hectic spots of red appeared on her cheekbones. “I think your involvement in this is too coincidental, I think you know more about the LCD than you’ve let on, I think you purposefully obstructed any investigation into the disappearance of someone I told you was in danger, and I think you got what you wanted: Artemus dead!” He said this all in one long breath, before sucking in a lungful of air. 

“Are you insane?” Instead of lunging at him, Louise backed away, an expression of pure rage on her face. “You think I’m a member of some bizarre cult, and a murderer to boot?”

”Are you?” Despite his determination to keep himself between them, lest they begin tearing each other apart, Tinsley wished he was anywhere else in this moment. He also very much regretted calling Louise. 

“No!” 

“Did you kill Artemus Ogletree?” 

“ _No!_ ”

”Did you _get_ him killed?” 

Louise opened her mouth as if to refute this latest claim as well. But nothing came out. She stood there for a moment, lips slightly parted, before pressing them together. She looked away. Tinsley felt his stomach bottom out, heard a ragged gust of air leave Ricky’s lips. The detective barely had time to do anything before Ricky stalked out, slamming the door as he went. Louise leaned against the desk, burying her head in her hands. 

Tinsley didn’t follow Ricky. Instead, he moved next to Louise, allowing for a moment of quiet. She lifted her head after a while, and Tinsley noted, with more than a hint of concern, that she had dark bags under her eyes. 

“I can’t do this.” She rubbed at the back of her neck. “I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I’m losing my mind. I...” Louise stopped herself, and bit down hard on her bottom lip. 

“Tell me.” Tinsley’s tone was sympathetic. He felt there was more to the story than what met the eye. Louise looked at him and sighed. 

“When my parents died, I devoted myself to my work. I lived and breathed the office. Don, on the other hand...” She shook her head ruefully. “He got in with a bad crowd. Criminal stuff. And not in a small capacity either. He was heavily involved with a lot of things,” she stopped for a moment, “Mafia related things. But, there was no concrete proof, because there almost never is, so I couldn’t even do anything about it.” She threw her hands up in the air, suddenly and sharply. In the back of his mind, Tinsley wondered whether this would lead to a confession of Don’s involvement with the LCD, if he had one. 

“What does this have to do with Artemus Ogletree?” Tinsley asked gently. Louise looked at him, and then her eyes slid away.

”I told Don about him and Ricky,” she explained. “I just...needed to talk about it, with someone I knew would be on my side about the whole thing. So I told my brother, which in and of itself isn’t a crime.”

“Couldn’t you have told Cooper?” Louise scoffed, raising her eyebrows. “Does Cooper even know? About...” Tinsley didn’t even know how to phrase this. She hadn’t even given him information yet. 

“I told him.” Louise fiddled with her fingers. “He was remarkably unperturbed.” Tinsley smiled to himself. He doubted there was much that could perturb Cooper. “I didn’t kill anyone,” she said, voice forceful. “I never laid a hand on Ogletree. That’s the truth.” 

“Is it the whole truth?” There was a long moment of silence, stretching out like taffy. 

“It’s a long story,” Louise warned. It sounded eerily similar to what Ricky had said, in the church, when he’d revealed his role in the Artemus Ogletree saga. Tinsley shrugged. 

“I’ve got nothing but time.” 


	23. The Night Of

_before..._

Sometimes, Louise wondered whether Don was partaking in recreational drugs. Because he was, as of late, being painfully obvious with his illegal activities, which was unusual for someone working with the Italian mob **_(_** and as much as Louise hated to think about, Don was one of those someones **_)_**. And sometimes he did strange things. Like tonight, for instance, insisting that they needed to go somewhere, acting jittery all the while. 

This somewhere was apparently a very creepy motel, with a dark windows and a flickering sign, and as Loujise exited the car, she thought about accosting Don and putting him through a sobriety test. Instead, she leaned against the car door, arms crossed over her chest. Don had his hands shoved in his pockets, chin tucked down in protection against the chill. 

“I have to talk to the main office for a moment.” In spite of his nervous demeanor, his voice was steady. “You can head on over to Cabin 13.” Louise raised a skeptical eyebrow. 

“Don, what am I doing here?” He looked back at her, gelled hair gleaming in the neon light. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, as if chewing on his words, thinking of the right answer to give. 

“I’ll tell you in a minute,” he said, before turning away and heading towards a section of the motel where the main office must have been. Louise sighed, and made her way over to Cabin 13, running her hands over the doors to feel which numbers were on them. It was too dark to see properly. When she got to Cabin 13, she twisted the knob experimentally. To her surprise, there was no resistance, and the door swung open. Louise entered, letting it shut behind her. 

She was just about to flip the switch she felt on the wall before the bedside lamp turned on. She yelled, whirling around, hand on her pounding heart. Sitting on the bed, in a full suit, looking pale and drawn, was Artemus. He looked equally as surprised to see her as she was to see him, mouthing her name on his thin lips. Louise rolled her eyes. 

“Jesus Christ,” she muttered, running her hand through her hair. “Are you incapable of giving anyone warnings about anything?” Artemus arched his brow. 

“I wasn’t expecting you.” She nodded slowly, skeptically. “Really. I thought it was just going to be Don." Louise felt her eyebrows hit her hairline now, and scoffed, turning away for a moment in order to compose herself. 

"If you're sleeping with my brother," she warned. "I really won't hesitate to throw a punch this time." Artemus looked almost offended that she'd suggested such a thing. As if they weren't in this position because of his predilection towards infidelity in the first place. "Don't give me that look. It's not that big of a leap to take, what with your," she curled her fingers inward, towards her palms, the picture of distaste, "Recent late night activities." 

"I am not sleeping with your brother," he said, very slowly. "We're...supposed to have a meeting." He said it with a bitter irony, as if he knew something that Louise didn't. It was somewhat infuriating. "You were just an...unforeseen side effect, apparently." 

"Feels familiar." Artemus didn't say anything, just glanced down at his folded hands. Louise sighed, running her fingers through her hair. "Where the Hell have you been, anyway?" He shrugged, refusing to speak for a while.

"It's complicated," was his answer. "And I'm not just saying that to deflect," he added hurriedly as Louise opened her mouth to argue. "I mean it. Everything that's been happening these past few weeks has been terribly complicated." He shot her a look, sharing an implicit understanding: the dissolution of whatever they had played a part in that complication. Louise wanted to tell him that if he loathed complication so much, he should have tried staying faithful. Or perhaps not taking that infuriating case about the Sodder children, which was now apparently mucking up C.C. Tinsley's life as well. She chose to say none of that. 

"Least you could have done was give Ricky Goldsworth a call," she muttered instead. Had Artemus been a dog, his ears would have perked up. She decided not to comment on it. "He's been hounding me ever since you vanished into thin air. Or wherever you went that was so complicated." Artemus's gaze softened. 

"I didn't know he cared that much." Louise scoffed derisively, moving to stand against the wall. She had a feeling she wouldn't be leaving here for a while, at least until Don came and relieved her of this sudden development. 

"Shocking as I'm sure it must be for you, when you sleep with people, you tend to make them think you care," she explained. "Especially if it's over a long period of time." 

"Louise-" 

" _Weeks_ ," she hissed, taking a step towards him. "You carry around behind my back for weeks, don't even have the guts to tell me until I basically drag it out of you, all while making me feel like an idiot for not seeing what was going on because I was so worried about you going deranged over that stupid missing children's case. And for what? What, exactly? Because if you felt like we didn't work anymore, if you realized you liked men instead of women, you could have just left, instead of breaking my trust." The tirade came out in one long rush of air, and she leaned her head back to take in a deep breath. 

"It wasn't that." Artemus's voice was soft. "It was...a matter of wanting to have my cake and eat it too, I suppose." She cocked an eyebrow skyward. "I liked the thrill of being with Ricky, and the security of being with you." He ducked his head, finally ashamed. "I didn't want that to change." A laugh bubbled up in Louise's throat, and she pressed her fingers to her temples for a minute. 

"That doesn't make me feel better," she warned him. Artemus nodded, with a soft chuckle. 

"I'm being honest." He sighed deeply. "It might be my last chance to come clean." His voice wavered a bit, and Artemus buried his head in his hands, tufts of black hair sticking up between his fingers. Louise fought to remain unmoved by the sight. 

"We deserved better." He looked up at her. "Me _and_ Ricky Goldsworth. We deserved someone who wanted to be with us because of us, not because of how we made you feel." Artemus nodded, seemingly unabashed. "So, to be honest, I don't care what happens to you. You can rot." Very suddenly, Artemus laughed, high and loud and with a note of hysteria. It made Louise jump. She looked at him askance, and he stopped as suddenly as he started, arms crossed tightly over his chest. 

"You might be onto something there," he noted cryptically. It was an odd thing to say, and in spite of herself, Louise's heart rate picked up slightly. "And I know you don't have to give me anything-"

"You're absolutely right, I don't have to and I don't want to." 

"But I need to ask you something." Louise was two seconds away from wrenching open the door and leaving, Don or no Don. "Just listen, please!" Artemus stood for the first time, wobbling slightly. "I know you don't think there's anything to the Sodder case. That they're dead and their parents are just too idealistic and too horrified to let it sink in. But you have to see this through. Whatever they've done, if they've hired someone to finish what I started, I don't care, but you have to help. You have to investigate it." He was faintly flushed now, and the most frantically earnest Louise had seen him be in a while. "Don't let this die, all right? Finish it." She didn't say anything for a while, stunned by the sudden turn of the conversation. "Please!" 

"I promise!" She stumbled over the words slightly, brows furrowed in worried confusion, but it seemed to be enough for Artemus, who sat back down as if his strings had been cut. With that said and done, Louise turned to leave again, actually opening the door. But Don was on the other side of it, and as he walked back in, effectively ending her chance of getting out, Louise saw that he wasn't alone. 

Accompanying him were two men. One she knew, a strange and somewhat frightening man, aptly named Dr. Fear, who seemed to be involved with mafia or some other mob/organization, and definitely with Don's illicit activities. He liked to come by the office and demand information about Don, always in that quiet, contemptible whisper. Louise found him unsettling. The other man, who quickly settled in the shadows of the room, she didn't know, beyond that he was well dressed and was tall. Artemus stood, his eyes flicking from Don to the mysterious man to Dr. Fear, and then quickly to her. 

"Oh." It was a small sound. "Oh, Louise." Dr. Fear leaned against the door as she narrowed her eyes at Artemus. Don was fidgeting with his hands. "I'm sorry." The way he said it was the same way people had said it to Louise, when her parents had died. "I'm so sor-" As if acting on some unseen cue **_(_** and maybe he was **_)_** Don lunged forward, knocking Artemus clean to the ground with a vicious punch. 

Several things happened after that. Louise lunged forward as if to stop her brother. Dr. Fear wrapped one arm around her torso, clamping his free hand over her mouth, anchoring her in place. The unknown man took a seat in a corner. Don kicked Artemus. And Artemus coughed up blood. The man in the corner nodded curtly to Dr. Fear, and Louise was dragged out of the motel room, still fighting fiercely. He let her go as soon as the door closed, only to shove her against the wall of Cabin 13, elbow pressed tight against her throat. Louise struggled to find breath. 

"One sound," Fear warned dangerously. "One sound and I'll crush your windpipe." He moved his arm, so that she was still pinned, but at least able to breathe. As commanded, she didn't make a noise. "Here's what's going to happen. You're an accomplice to murder now. You led us here, we committed a murder, you're guilty by association." Louise's eyes widened, and she shoved his hands away. He let her, and she stayed stock still for a moment, fighting against a dry throat.

"That's _insane_." Her voice was a rasp, though a furious one. "You really think I'm not going to do anything about this?!" Fear nodded, a loathsome smugness in his eyes. 

"That's exactly what you're going to do." Louise shook her head, and pondered for a moment if she could rush back into the room. Not likely, given that Fear had shown no problem with exerting superior physical strength when it was necessary. "Let me explain this to you very slowly. We've been trying to figure out how to get rid of Mr. Ogletree in there ever since he started sniffing around that pesky Sodder case. And Don handed us the perfect way to do it on a silver platter, in the form of you." Louise raised her eyebrows, and Fear brought his fingers up to touch her cheek. "You're the only one with real motivation to beat your unfaithful lover to death." She flinched away from him sharply. "So if you say anything about this, it won't be us who pay for it. It'll be you." He leaned close, and Louise resisted the urge to shrink back. "I'll make sure of it." 

"You're a psychopath." Fear's hand travelled downwards, and then sharply grabbed her wrist, fingers pressing down painfully on the bone. Louise pressed her lips together to avoid making a sound. 

"Maybe so," he whispered. "But a psychopath who owns you." With that, he let her go, straightening his spine and smoothing out any wrinkles in his clothes. They stayed like that for a moment, both still and silent, breath coming to the air in frosty puffs. The only illumination in the dark was the dim light shining through the curtained window of Cabin 13. After a moment, Fear walked away, wrenching open the door and going back inside. There was a long moaning sound as the door swung shut, which could either be rusty hinges or Artemus Ogletree groaning in pain. Louise couldn't tell. 

And then it was just her, in the dark, alone, left with a choice. She could leave, try and play along with Fear's game as best as she could in order to stay alive, let him blackmail her into submission with his threats of incarceration and accessory to gruesome murder. She could stay, and listen to three men kill someone who, while she certainly hated, didn't want dead. She could try and stop them right now and incur some awful wrath. She could report this to the authorities, and go down for something she had no willing part in. It all sounded horrible. But a fifth possibility was presenting itself to Louise, one infinitely more pleasurable than the previous three. 

Tinsley was investigating the Sodders. He and Ricky both were. And she had promised Artemus that she would help see that investigation through to its end, however she could. She could play along to Fear's game, at least to a certain extent, all while helping the two amateur sleuths put him behind bars. It wasn't a perfect plan, by any stretch, and it still meant letting Artemus die, and letting Fear continue to jerk her around like a puppet on a string, all of which she was loathe to do. But what were her other options? Complacency? Death? 

Louise made her choice, excruciating as it was. She squared her shoulders and walked away into the darkness, leaving Artemus Ogletree to die.


	24. Reaching Out To Our Enemies

_now..._

"And that's everything," Tinsley finished, clasping his hands together. He stared at Ricky with earnest blue eyes. "Did you get all that?" Ricky nodded slowly, running his fingers through his curls. He felt as if his entire brain had been steeped in molasses. It was a lot of information to absorb. "She was being blackmailed by a man we can, essentially, categorize as a monster." Ricky nodded again, and Tinsley placed a hand on his shoulder. "It wasn't her fault, Ricky." 

"I got that," Ricky said. "And I'm sympathetic, I am." He also felt vaguely guilty, not that he was willing to voice it quite yet. He had too many unresolved feelings about the entire Artemus Ogletree saga. Tinsley, on the other hand, pressed his lips together. 

"There's a but coming, isn't there?" 

"No!" Ricky protested, eyes wide. Tinsley did nothing but continue to stare at him. And though Ricky had other things on his mind, he noticed, as he often did, that the man's eyes were the perfect type of blue for him, pale and soft. _Not the time_ , Ricky reminded himself. "OK, maybe there kind of is." He grabbed Tinsley's hand before the other man could pull away. His voice dipped; a smart choice given that they were currently in Tinsley's bedroom, with Louise right next door, currently going through all the LCD files for mention of Dr. Fear. "I feel sorry for her. And I feel sorry for any time I thought that she willingly partook in Ogletree's death. That's God's honest truth." Ricky held up his free hand, palm facing Tinsley, as if swearing an oath. "But I really don't think we should be letting her anywhere near this case?" 

"Ricky." There was a wheedling note in his tone. "She's been helpful. Arguably more helpful than anyone else. She's honoring what Ogletree made her promise, she's seeing this through to the end to the best of her abilities. She got us those case files, and more importantly, she's got a direct link to someone I'm certain is at the center of all this." Ricky huffed a sigh. 

"That's my problem," he explained, making sure his volume didn't get louder. "She's got a direct link to someone who's already proven he's willing to commit murder to cover his tracks." He pressed his lips together, and moved closer to Tinsley. "More than a link, she's under his thumb. It's not something I blame her for," Ricky added hurriedly. The _anymore_ hung in the air between them. And even that might have been a bit charitable. "But she's still responsible for Artemus's death, and she's still a loose end I don't want touching anything relating to this whole mess." 

Now was the time where Ricky predicted that Tinsley would move away, run his fingers through his light blond hair, give him a measured look. Instead, Tinsley stayed still, as if waiting for Ricky to continue speaking. He waited for a while, gathering his thoughts and his breath. Everything was in a jumble in his mind, blame and guilt and affection and almost every other emotion under the sun churning inside his skull.

"She can't have anything to do with this," he began, slowly, softly, choosing his words carefully. "Because what if Fear finds out? She's good at keeping secrets," here his voice was bitter, "But she's not perfect. And she could slip up. And then Fear knows that his henchwoman is working with us, and he might use the leverage he has over her to screw us."

"How would that work?" This time, it was Tinsley who took a step forward. Ricky could smell the mint toothpaste on his breath. "If Louise has been managing to keep Dr. Fear in the dark while making him think that's not the case, how is she going to help him get in our way?" 

"I don't know," Ricky admitted. "But he's clever. He got Artemus to go to his own death. He got Louise to keep quiet about it. He's helped keep the existence of the LCD a very well kept secret. This guy is smart. And if he wanted to do something to us, he could." Ricky swallowed. "She could give him information, if he makes her. Or she could help him organize someone else's murder-"

"I object to the idea that Louise willingly organized any of that," Tinsley objected, before Ricky cut him off.

"That's not the point!" Ricky hissed.

"And who would Fear even need to kill?" 

" _You_ , you supreme idiot!" His hands came up to frame Tinsley face, shaking him slightly. "He could ask Louise to help him hurt _you_. And I won't let that happen. I'm not going to let that happen." They were impossibly close, and this time, Ricky could feel the electricity. It was like static shock, pinpricks of pain under his skin, in his veins, setting his blood afire. Tinsley was staring at him, slightly wide eyed. "I don't want to see anything happen to you."

"Why?" 

Ricky was not a stupid man, by any means. Most people would consider him a smart man. A very smart man, even. But he was a smart man who made stupid decisions. Very stupid decisions, in some cases. Oftentimes they were well intentioned, but stupid nonetheless. And now, Ricky made what was likely to be one of the stupidest decisions in his stupid decision filled life. 

He kissed Tinsley.

He hadn't been planning it, hadn't been thinking about it, but the detective's one word question had broken a dam in him, and the only way to stem the flood was for Ricky to press his lips to Tinsley's. Why didn't Ricky want Tinsley to get hurt? Was he serious? The reason Ricky didn't want Tinsley to get hurt was that they were friends **_(_** or something else, given that Ricky was currently kissing him **_)_**. Because Tinsley knew what was important to Ricky and respected it, because he comforted Ricky when he needed it, and gave him a reality check when he deserved it. Because there was real affection in his gaze, and because he made Ricky feel light as air and dizzy as a top whenever he was in the same room. Because he was breathtakingly beautiful, and whatever Ricky had felt for Artemus Ogletree couldn't hold a candle to whatever C.C. Tinsley had ignited. 

Ricky hadn't expected Tinsley to respond. It was such a spur of the moment decision that he hadn't really expected anything. But suddenly, Tinsley's hands weren't just hovering in the air in shock, they were on his waist, tugging him close, and Ricky's fingers threaded through Tinsley's hair as if it was the most natural thing in the world. But just as the detective parted his lips to kiss back, Ricky sprung away, breathless. They stared at each other, wide eyed, Tinsley's pale cheeks flushed and a light in his blue eyes. Ricky felt as if he could still taste him on his tongue. 

"I should get some air," he said hoarsely, before banging open the door and heading out. He passed Louise as he went, who did nothing but raise an eyebrow in his direction. Had she heard anything? The discussion, the kiss? Ricky didn't think about that as he flung himself down the stairs and stumbled out into the street. He sucked in deep lungfuls of cold air, bracing his hands against his head. There was an alley directly across from Tinsley's building, and Ricky made his way to it, leaning against the dirty brick wall. _That was unexpected_ , Ricky thought to himself. He wondered what Tinsley was thinking about the kiss, if Tinsley was thinking about it at all. Had he put it from his mind? Or was he, like Ricky, dealing with thousands of thoughts rushing through his head at impossible speeds, slipping in and slipping out like quicksilver. 

Ricky would have thought about it more, had something not smashed into his ribs, sending him sprawling to the ground, gasping in pain. Before he could even react, or stand, hands grabbed his elbows, hoisting him to his feet. Ricky didn't pay attention to the two men by his side, fingers digging sharply into the bone. No, he was focused on the man walking towards him, gait slow and methodical. He was wearing a dark coat that went down to his calves, and as he got closer, Ricky could see close shaven salt and pepper hair, small dark eyes, a cruel face. He didn't recognize this man, but he would be a fool not to know exactly who he was. 

**Dr. Fear.**

"Ricardo!" He said it softly, but warmly, as if they were old friends. Ricky ground his teeth. "I'm sorry about that little tap to your tummy there, but I couldn't have you running off before we'd gotten the chance to talk." Ricky struggled, only to get a slap to the back of head from Goon #1. 

"I'd say it's a pleasure," Ricky growled. "But it's not." Fear hummed, not taking his eyes off of the other man. 

"No," he murmured conversationally. "I suppose it's not." Ricky was coming to the conclusion that Fear rarely spoke in anything that wasn't a soft voice. It sent a thrum of fear up his spine. "Well, not for you, anyway. This is a perfectly wonderful afternoon for me." 

"And why's that?" Again, Ricky tried to jerk his way out of his captive hold. No such luck, and he felt something pull in his shoulder as he did so. He stilled, and pressed his lips together hard. Fear was examining him, as if an interesting specimen he was looking forward to doing experiments on. The thought made Ricky go cold, and he fought back a shudder. 

"I'm getting rid of a problem." The way he said it conjured awful images in Ricky's head, of cruel metal devices, sharp knives, long barreled guns, the blood stained crime scene where he and Tinsley and the _Unsolved_ boys had found Artemus Ogletree's body. They scared him, those thoughts did, but he pressed the fear down, refusing to let it see the light of day. 

"A problem. Huh." He pouted his lip out in mock thought. "Let me guess. You're angry that me and my friends are getting closer to finding those kids, to finding out the truth about you and all the dark deeds you do in the night. Or, you're scared, that not only are we going to find you out, we're going to expose you, for the kidnappings and the murder and everything else you and your miserable friends have ever done." The hands on Ricky tightened painfully, and a small noise escaped his mouth in spite of himself. Fear smiled slightly. 

"Not scared," he reprimanded quietly. "Not angry. Just cautious. Merely methodical, as it were. I prefer to tie up my loose ends, rather than leave them hanging." He lifted a hand as if to touch Ricky. But the thought of having skin to skin contact with this man repulsed him, so Ricky did the only thing he could think of. His legs flung themselves out, dealing Fear a vicious kick. Immediately, he was held back again, but Fear doubled over for a moment as Ricky struggled. Beneath the sounds of his fighting, he heard Fear's muffled laughter. 

" _Whoo!_ " It was a loud, jarring sound. "Oh, you have fire in you, Ricardo Goldsworth!" He straightened, slightly disheveled, and took a step towards Ricky. "Have I mentioned that I love fire?" Ricky tried desperately to think of something else to do, only to realize that he was in a situation that was very likely to end badly for him. There was a real jolt of terror in his heart at the thought. 

"What the Hell are you doing?!" They all looked to the sound of the voice, Fear turning around so his back was to Ricky. Standing at the mouth of the alley, looking absolutely aghast, was none other than Louise Owen. Ricky couldn't see Fear's face, and wondered if he was smiling. The good doctor took some steps forward, arms opened wide. 

"Louise!" She walked towards him too, but as if to move past him, to get to Ricky. For the first time in his life, the bar owner was relieved to see her. But Fear moved in front of her, stopping her in her tracks just a few inches away from Ricky. "I'm very glad to see you." Louise raised an eyebrow to her hairline at that. 

"I really doubt it," she said acerbically. 

"Oh, don't doubt it." Fear's voice was soft again, but jovial, as if he'd been dealt a winning hand at a poker game. "This is what everything has been leading up to. This is why I retained your services." He made the phrase sound dirty. "This is why I need you. Because right now, what I need you to do is turn around, and walk far away." Ricky shook his head fiercely. Louise opened her mouth as if to object, dark eyes wide. "You know what'll happen if you don't listen." 

It was exactly what Ricky had been afraid of happening. Fear's leverage over Louise was strong, and he was using it to make sure that she did nothing to hinder his plans, that she turn a blind eye to his machinations. Louise, meanwhile, seemed to be searching Fear's face, before her eyes flicked over to Ricky. He hoped that she saw the wordless plea in them, the begging for her not to comply. There was nothing on her face to suggest that she understood that, no emotion or expression. Her gaze returned to Fear's, and she made a small gesture, only one, almost imperceptible. A nod. 

Ricky lunged forward. He was held back, of course, but as Louise turned to go he wanted to run over to her and ask her what the Hell was wrong with her. But she wasn't moving, she had merely turned her back on the scene. Ricky stopped, and waited with baited breath. Something was about to happen, something unexpected. Of that he was absolutely certain. 

Louise whirled around and punched Dr. Fear in the face. It was a fierce one, hard enough that Ricky was certain he could hear a crack, and it knocked Fear to the ground. The shock of it all made the goons loosen their grip on Ricky, and he took the time to get one arm free, slamming his fist into Goon #1's nose. He fell too, blood gushing down his face, as Goon #2 attempted to pin Ricky's arms behind him. They struggled for a moment, and just as Goon #2 regained the upper hand, Ricky saw Fear rise from the ground just as Louise moved to run to Ricky, hopefully to help him and let them both flee. Fear had other plans.

With almost impossible swiftness, he had Louise by the throat, and swung, dashing her head against the brick wall. The lawyer crumpled to the ground, unconscious, and once she fell, Ricky saw the smear of blood on her forehead, saw the stillness of her unconsciousness. Not bothering to pause and admire his handiwork, Fear was in front of Ricky, a livid bruise appearing on his pale skin, eyes shining with rage as the goons made the decision to move away. He grabbed Ricky by the hair, yanking it hard. Ricky cried out in pain. 

"Now," he hissed, voice filled with an evil, demonic anger, "I'm angry." Fear drove his fist into Ricky's gut, a sharp and painful punch that knocked all the wind out of him. He let Ricky go, and the younger man fell to the ground, groaning and clutching his stomach, attempting to suck in some air. He attempted to crawl away, turning back to look at Dr. Fear. And he froze. In Fear's hands was a gun. 

"No, wait!  _Wait!_ " Ricky held his hands out in front of him, as if that would stop the path of a bullet, or make Fear hesitate. He didn't hesitate. With hatred burning in his eyes, he clicked back the safety and pulled the trigger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, the chapter title is taken from a _for king and country_ song. i'm not ashamed of that. also, you're welcome and i'm sorry ;)


	25. The Reckoning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since it's only a day after another GP month anniversary, I have a lil something to say: _Thank you all!!!!_ I've been writing GP since November, and the response I've gotten has been absolutely overwhelming. Just know that your appreciation and your feedback has meant the world to me. Special thanks goes to **fourensix** , **cillpiines** , and **honeybeurreblanc** on tumblr, and **likewhateverokay** , **spookywriter** , and **ryanbirgara/haztomlins** on here for your constant comments and support. You're the reasons I'm able to keep the motivation for this entire stupid mess. Kisses!

It was the fact that neither Ricky nor Louise had been back in quite a few minutes that was worrying Tinsley. If it had been just one of them, he might have not been as concerned, but the two of them? That was probable cause, in the young detective's mind. Which was why he was outside now, even though the air was cold and he was in nothing more than his habitual beige trench coat and allowing himself to slowly freeze, just to see if the two had met up and gotten into a brawl on the streets.

They hadn't, apparently, because neither of them were in sight. Tinsley went to the alley across the street, reminding himself not to panic. There was absolutely no reason to panic. His nerves were just on high because it was chilly out, and because not even an hour ago Ricky had kissed him. Which was a thought rant for another day. Because the alley was empty yes, but likely not for very long. 

"What the Hell?" Tinsley crouched down. There was a dark red stain on the ground, sticky when he put his hand to it, staining his fingers. Congealing blood. That was what Tinsley's mind told him as he jerked his fingers away, heart pounding. But it wasn't that. It couldn't be. Because that meant either Louise or Ricky had been put in a position that led to the drawing of said blood **_(_** and quite a bit of it **_)_** , and he had been right across the street, completely oblivious. It was nauseating to think about, so Tinsley didn't allow himself to think about it. Instead, he stood, straightening his shoulders and sucking in a deep breath. And he walked. Not back to his apartment, but in the completely opposite direction. 

* * *

 

The first thing Louise noticed was that her head was throbbing. Painfully so. Eyes fluttering open, she brought a hand to her temple, wincing as she touched the sensitive area. The second thing she noticed was that wherever she lay was small and dark. Louise screwed her eyes shut, and the reopened them. Better. She pushed herself up so that she was leaning one hip against the ground, one knee drawn up to her chest so she could rest her elbow on it. 

"Nice of you to join us." Louise looked to her right, her eyes already adjusting to the dark. There was Ricky, leaning against the opposite wall. It was a small room, then, wherever they were, because he wasn't all that far away. What was concerning, however, was the fact that there was a dark stain on his pant leg, that appeared to have spread to the floor by him as well. Blood. 

"Ricky..." She looked at him, lips parted. "Your leg... Are you OK?" Despite their subpar relationship, Louise held real concern for him. Ricky laughed bitterly, inhaling sharply as he did so, shooting his leg an infuriated look. 

"I'm not doing so great," he admitted. Momentarily forgetting her situation, Louise moved forward rapidly. The pain in her head protested immediately, and in spite of herself, she whimpered. "Careful!" Ricky held out a hand as if to ward her against movement. He seemed legitimately concerned as well. "You got a really hard hit back there." Louise didn't remember anything after she turned around to punch Dr. Fear. Which, despite her current predicament, still made her feel proud. 

"Where even are we?" she asked, looking around, making sure to move slowly. Ricky shrugged, shifting slightly. His face got tight. 

"I don't know," he admitted. "I was in and out for a while. Do you know how much it hurts to get shot?" 

"No, I don't." Louise resisted the urge to feel nauseous. "But from now on, no more in and out. You stay in." She was a lawyer, not a doctor, but even she knew that lack of consciousness combined with potential blood loss was a dangerous thing. Possibly even a deadly thing. "Do you hear me?" Ricky rolled his head to face her. It was too dark to read his expression. 

"I hear you." His tone was flat. Louise leaned her head back against the wall, pressing her lips together. Her head was still throbbing. 

* * *

 

Tinsley tripped almost the very instant he entered _Bobby Mackey's_. He righted himself on a coat rack, before shaking his shoulders, as if shrugging off insects. Thankfully, this was not one of those days where everyone and their mother noticed his clumsiness. So perhaps Ricky was right to believe in God. Keeping near the doorway, he looked around. No Ricky in sight, but two people who might have an idea of where to find him, or who had words to offer reassurance. Selena and Cooper, chatting amicably by the bar, oblivious to Tinsley's entrance. He made his way over to them, tipping an imaginary cap to Selena once she spotted them. 

"Tinsley!" Cooper sounded surprised. "What are you doing here?" The detective cleared his throat, fighting for an unobstructed airway. It was going to be fine. 

"I need to ask you something," he said. "The both of you, if I can." Selena nodded, and Cooper pivoted so that he was facing Tinsley fully. He tilted his head slightly, as if trying to size the other man up, as if trying to predict his line of questioning. 

"Have either of you seen Ricky?" Cooper shook his head almost immediately. Selena, meanwhile took longer to answer, manicured fingers drumming against her thigh. 

"Not since closing early this morning," she said at last. "Why?" Tinsley's heart rate picked up, and he curled his hands into fists to prevent his fingers from trembling. Just because neither of them hadn't seen Ricky didn't mean anything was wrong. It wasn't damning. Necessarily. 

"What about Louise?" This time, the both of them shook their heads. Selena looked confused by Tinsley's queries, while Cooper, who was clearly more in the know, appeared stuck between confounded and the beginning of worry. Tinsley grabbed his arm and, nodding his farewell to Selena, steered Cooper towards an empty corner, swallowing against a dry throat. 

"What's going on?" Cooper demanded, dark eyes wide. Tinsley sighed. Cooper had been involved, so far, yes, but not fully involved. And while yes, he was aware of the more nitty-gritty details of everything that had happened, according to Louise, Tinsley was slightly hesitant to get him involved. So many things could go wrong, in a thousand different ways. And with the growing worry that something had happened to Ricky and Louise, something bad, Tinsley was not necessarily sure if he wanted to take that chance. But Cooper was smart. And he clearly cared. He could be helpful. 

"They're missing." Cooper furrowed his brow. "Ricky and Louise. They vanished into thin air, and I _cannot_ find them." Cooper's face tightened, and he pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and his forefinger. 

"How?" he asked. 

"We were going over the LCD files, and then Ricky went out to get some air." Tinsley kept the kiss detail for himself. Right now, that was his, and his alone. "Then Louise went out to talk to him, and they haven't come back since." The hand not currently pressed to his face was fidgeting at Cooper's side, fingers twitching in and out of themselves. 

"Are we thinking it was him?" He didn't have to say the name for Tinsley to know who he meant. Dr. Fear had been popping in and out of this story at an increasingly rapid pace, and every new piece of information they learned was worse than the last. First, he was potentially involved with the kidnapping of the Sodder children. Then, he was definitely involved, with the added bonus of being a high up in a shady organization/cult. And then, he was revealed to be blackmailing an assistant DA to cover up gruesome murder. It seemed only logical that, if Louise and Ricky had not vanished of their own free will, that Dr. Fear would be involved. 

"I don't know who else it could be," Tinsley responded, swallowing thickly. "It would make sense." In a very horrible way, but nevertheless, it would make sense. "So what do we do?" _Bobby Mackey's_ was noisy, as it always was, but in their little corner, it felt quiet and still. 

"You have the LCD files at your house?" Tinsley nodded. "Good." Without even hesitating, Cooper strode towards the door, leaving Tinsley to catch up. He did, after bumping into a table. "We're going to go over those and find anything we can that could tell us about Fear, and where he would take people if he kidnapped them." 

* * *

 

"How did Fear know where to find us?" Louise's head was hurting less, and the wound on it appeared to be scabbing over. It allowed her to narrow her eyes at Ricky through the dark when he started talking. 

"What?" It wasn't a hostile question, but a cautious one. Just because neither of them wanted the other to die didn't mean they were on the best terms. It wasn't that long ago, after all, that Ricky had outright accused her of murder, and it still rubbed her the wrong way. 

"You heard me," he responded, shifting slightly so he was leaning forward. "How did he know where to find us?" 

"I don't know." She looked at him incredulously, spreading her hands. "He's a smart guy, with many evil little minions ready to do his bidding at a moment's notice. Maybe you and Tinsley were being tailed for a while and just didn't notice." Ricky scoffed, a grating sound. Louise raised an eyebrow. It only hurt a little. "I'm sorry, what was that?" 

"Speaking of minions," Ricky mumbled. "Did you tell him? Did you tell him where we were, what we were doing?" Louise, who had been leaning back against the opposite wall, sat up abruptly, head wound voicing its complaint with a vicious stab of pain. 

"Are you being serious?" 

"Deadly," Ricky answered, eyes hard and smirk bitter. 

"No." Her voice was ice. "I did not tell Doctor Pyschopath where to find you or Tinsley. In fact, I have been actively working to keep him off your tail as best I could, which is an even more thankless job than my actual one, seeing as the only reward I get is accusations right and left from you." Ricky's back was straightened now too. 

"Really?" he asked. "You've been keeping him away from us. How?"

"Oh come on, Ricky, you of all people know how lying works. You tell someone something other than the truth." Even if said someone had a propensity for threatening physical violence and breaking into her house. In hindsight, it was absolutely an idiotic thing for her to do. But, Louise realized, that if she had the chance to do it over, to give Fear all the information she had in exchange for her own safety, she wouldn't change any of her decisions. Of that she was absolutely certain. 

"Forgive me if I'm having a hard time believing that." Louise rolled her eyes. "Seeing as you have been, after all, both complicit and complacent in the death of another human being-"

"Enough!" Louise interrupted. She wasn't shouting, but she was close. "You know, I am so sick of you throwing that in my face. A simple conversation had consequences I couldn't foresee that have negatively affected me more than you, how is that my fault?"

"You could have done something!" Ricky's voice was louder too. "Instead of letting yourself become a killer by association." Louise held up a hand, glaring fiercely at him. 

"Fine," she hissed. "Maybe I'm a killer. But then you're a killer too." Ricky's mouth dropped open. "The only reason Fear and the LCD were able to kill Artemus for his investigation is because Don gave them information that they could use against me. The only reason Don had information is because I told him something. And the only reason I told him anything was because _you gave me something to tell_." She was finding that, now that she had the chance to air her grievances, she wasn't able to stop. "You went on with someone you knew was involved with someone else, regardless of the consequences, and you're mad at me for talking about my hurt to my brother? The only reason I was able to was because you were too self involved. So, Ricky, if Artemus's blood is on my hands, then I guess it's on your's too." Spent, she leaned her head back, eyes fluttering shut. Ricky didn't respond. 

* * *

 

Tinsley was an investigator. Cooper was a former con man. This meant that, by very nature, they had the habit of walking quickly and walking quietly, almost subconsciously. Sometimes it was annoying, and sometimes it was helpful. It was helpful when Tinsley, accompanied by Cooper, arrived at his apartment and opened the door, only to apparently interrupt someone in the midst of robbing him. Or at least, attempting to rob him, given that there was nothing of value in his hands or anywhere near him. 

Tinsley thanked God, if He truly existed, that he had the sense and foresight to hide the LCD files. 

His robber didn't look at all perturbed as he straightened his back to stare at the two men. He had close cut salt and pepper hair, a thin face, and cruel eyes. Tinsley resisted the urge to shudder. 

"Can I help you?" In his peripheral vision, Tinsley saw Cooper turn to stare at him, aghast. He was, of course, not aware that the last time someone had broken into his home, Tinsley's first reaction was to say hello. He found that it worked better than immediately running for the police. Tinsley found that it wasn't all that helpful most of the time. 

"No you cannot." The robber's voice was quiet, mean. "I don't have a feeling you'd want me to, anyhow." His gaze was darting around, not nervous but inquisitive, as if trying to find something he couldn't seen. Tinsley opened his mouth again, only for Cooper to touch his elbow, a silent caution for him to be silent. Tinsley complied. 

"Your name." It wasn't a question when Cooper said it; it was a command. Tinsley appreciated him doing that, taking the reins, seeing as his mind was somewhat scattered at the moment but the variety of happenings of the day. "Now." The robber simply smiled, knife sharp and full of teeth, a smile that made Tinsley think of danger, of darkness. Of evil. 

"You know my name, Mr. Bedoya." His voice was so contemptuous that Tinsley still wanted to demand he say it, just on the principle alone. But the fact of the matter was that Tinsley did know his name, because only one person he'd heard of seem to fit the character of this man, this quiet speaking, despicable looking man. Beside him, Cooper stiffened before drawing himself up to his full height. 

"Where are they?" To be fair, Dr. Fear was able to play confusion fairly well. 

"Where are who?" Tinsley, on the other hand, was having none of it. 

"Ricky and Louise," he said, grinding his jaw. "What did you do to them?" Fear simply raised his eyebrows smugly. Tinsley resisted the urge to tackle him. Cooper, it seemed, was struggling with this same urge. "Where. Are. They?" 

"Dead," Fear responded bluntly. Tinsley felt as if he was about to have a heart attack. "Or, they will be. Soon," the doctor amended, as if he'd simply misspoken a restaurant order. "Do you see that blood on your hand, Detective?" Tinsley glanced down, startled to find that there was still a red stain on his fingers, dry and flaking. The sight of it made his stomach hurt. "Eventually, if you lose too much of that stuff, you die." This time, Tinsley did start forward. Fear held up his index fingers. 

"Ah ah ah!" he cautioned. "If anything happens to me, Ricky Goldsworth and Louise Owen are finished. You'll be finding pieces of them for months." Tinsley made a groaning sound in spite of himself. Cooper, however, had murder in his eyes. 

"Is that something you're willing to stake your life on?" he asked dangerously. 

"Oh absolutely." He was oddly chipper considering he was discussing the possibility of his own death. "Because if either of you harm a hair on my head, you're all dead. You and those kids." Tinsley's widened. He'd been theorizing about Fear's involvement with the Sodder kidnapping, yes, treating it as an almost certainty even, but it was something else to hear what was tantamount to a confession. Fear must have truly been confident he could get away with his dastardly plans if he was so flippant with his own complicity. The thought did not reassure Tinsley. 

"You wanted the files," he said, his tone flat. Again, Fear shrugged. 

"What I want is what I know I can get." Tinsley furrowed his brow. "You're going to let me walk out of here and not do anything about it." Cooper scoffed meanly, shaking his head as if dealing with an unruly child. 

"You really think that?"

"Oh, I know it. Because," and here Fear's voice dipped, reminding Tinsley that they were, in fact, dealing with someone who was not meant to be trifled with. "You're not going to weigh pride against the lives of your loved ones." He moved towards the door, and Tinsley, realizing just how right he was, moved to let him pass. Fear breezed past them, not bothering to close the door quietly, letting it slam shut. The noise jarring. 

"We're in over our heads," Tinsley mumbled, burying his head in his hands. Beside him, Cooper sighed, a troubling sound. 

"Maybe." It was a reluctant concession. "But we have people to find anyway."

* * *

 

Louise was pacing, trying to figure out exactly where they were based on dimension. So far, no luck. Ricky, injured as he was, provided no help whatsoever, or even any conversation. They hadn't said a word to each other since she had yelled at him earlier. Which was working fine for Louise, given that she had no idea what to say. It was better to focus on what she could actually change, and have them both keep quiet until they got out of this mess. 

"You're right." Apparently, Ricky wasn't thinking the same thing she was. Louise turned to face, eyes narrowed slightly. "What you said, earlier," he clarified, waving his hands about aimlessly. "You...you were right." It looked as if it was painful for him to say that. Louise moved and sat back down, leaning against the wall once again. 

"All right." She wasn't sure how to properly respond to what he said. 

"When I figured out that Artemus was involved with someone else," Ricky continued. "When I figured out he was involved with you, I should have called it quits right there. I shouldn't have carried on with him." He sighed, a heavy sound. Louise waited, to see if there was more he wanted to say. There was. "You wouldn't have given Don anything if I hadn't given you reason to. You were right." He was quiet for a moment, fiddling with his hands. "So I apologize." Louise nodded once, and felt herself soften. 

"You're forgiven." Now it was her turn to mull over her words. "And I'm sorry." Ricky looked at her in confusion. "You lost him too." They stayed quiet for a while, sitting opposite each other and ruminating over the words that had been spoken. After a while, Louise stood, bracing herself against the wall to help keep support. Her fingers brushed over letters, the curve of an O and the sharp edges of a W. She stopped, fingers still against the stone. Her hand moved over the rest of the word: _Owen_. She had an epiphany.

"What?" Ricky shifted slightly so that he was inched forward slightly. "Louise, what is it?" 

"I know where we are." There wasn't any relief in her voice when she said that, for there was no relief to be found. Where they were sent a message, and not a good one. 

"Enlighten me," Ricky said dryly. 

* * *

 

"How can one group of files be helpful on one end and completely useless on the other?" It was safe to say that Cooper was not having any better luck with his search than Tinsley was. Which was to say, it was likely that Cooper was having no luck whatsoever. Tinsley had been searching through every piece of paper he could for any idea of where Fear might have taken Ricky and Louise. Unfortunately, nothing was pointing anything out, and the detective's hopes that there would be some file that helpfully said _"This is where Dr. Fear takes people he's kidnapped"_ were coming up empty. 

"Look," Tinsley said, straightening his back and pushing feathery tufts of hair out of his eyes. "There's gotta be something in here." There were dark rings under Cooper's deepest eyes, and Tinsley wondered whether he'd gotten any sleep recently. 

"And what if they're not?"

"We don't know that." It was one of Tinsley's greatest fears at the moment, and one he refused to indulge in. 

"And what if they're not?" Cooper's voice rose in both pitch and volume, and he looked two seconds away from throwing something. Which, while therapeutic in Tinsley's experience, wasn't necessarily the most helpful thing he could do at the moment. 

"Then we find something else." Cooper rubbed at his temples before looking at him. "We will. No stone unturned and all of that." Tinsley was in that odd space between fear and calm, where he knew he needed to keep a level head, so he kept one, all while feeling at the edge of panic because he was trying to resolve a terrifying situation. 

"What other information do you have?" Cooper asked. "Weren't you and Goldsworth at a literal dead end before you had this information?" 

"For the Sodder case," Tinsley clarified. "This isn't the Sodder case. This is us trying to find people we care about who have been literally abducted by a man I'm fairly certain has no morals." 

"Our loved ones," Cooper mumbled mockingly. That particular Dr. Fear quote must have been ringing in his head just as often as it had been ringing in Tinsley's. "Well, have you found anything?" 

"I've found a something." Cooper leaned closer. "It's not very helpful." Still, Cooper seemed interested enough to know. "He's done this before. He's connected to multiple missing persons cases, not just Ricky and Louise and the Sodder children. Sometimes they've turned up, mostly dead." Here Cooper made a small sound. "Most times there's nothing heard from them again. He's good at whatever it is he does."

"So if he really wants to make it so we don't find Louise or Goldsworth, we won't." Cooper sounded defeated. "We don't have enough Tinsley. And you've got one of the only professions in the world that allows you to develop an almost unlimited well of knowledge." He was implying the same thing Tinsley was thinking: _We're screwed_. But just as he was speaking, the detective was developing a theory. Yes, he had one of those unique jobs that allowed him to learn and learn and learn. But it was not, by any stretch of the imagination, the only job that did that. 

"There's another job like mine." For the first time since he'd become disconcerted about Ricky and Louise's whereabouts, Tinsley felt a glimmer of hope, a lightening of his disposition. Cooper raised his eyebrows. 

"What job?" Tinsley allowed himself a smile. 

"A reporter." For a moment, Cooper looked confused. And then, he understood, returning Tinsley's grin with a conspiratorial slant. "Let's go." Without hesitating, the two of them were out the door, off to find the only reporters that could actually help them. 

* * *

 

Just as Tinsley and Cooper were conspiring, so were Louise and Ricky. Finding out where they were located was one of the only good things to come out of this entire mess. Now the objective was to escape. 

"So," Ricky said, slapping his palm against the ground. "If we're where you say we are-"

"We are," Louise interrupted. "I'm absolutely certain of that." 

"Then how do we get out of here?" He gestured. Louise tapped her foot, thinking. They'd gotten forward, yes, but they weren't at the finish line. Not yet. 

"The walls are made of stone..." Louise paused, drumming her fingers against her thigh, thinking. "But the doors aren't." She whirled around to Ricky, snapping her fingers. "The doors aren't made of stone. They're made of wood." Ricky looked confused for only a second, before his eyes lit up. "What can you do with doors made of wood?" 

"You can break them down." Ricky sounded gleeful at the idea. 

"You can break them down," Louise repeated. They were getting somewhere, finally. She turned away from Ricky, looking around for something that she could use to potentially break down the door. There was a scuffling sound from Ricky, as if he was trying to stand. "No, don't!" She held out a hand. "Don't hurt yourself." Ricky scoffed. 

"I've already hurt myself," he pointed out, gesturing to his leg. "That's not what I'm worried about. I'm worried about the fact that I'm sitting down and still getting dizzy." Something wavered ever so slightly in Ricky's voice. Louise pressed her lips together. 

"Here." It was somewhat of a pity that she was ruining a shirt she liked rather well, but she still tore a large strip of cloth from the hem, handing it to Ricky. "Tie that around the area. That should help, I think."

"You think?"

"I'm not an army medic Ricky, I don't know what to do to make certain you don't bleed out from a gunshot wound. This is all I've got." She stuck the cloth further out. "Now tie it." Ricky acquiesced, though she may have heard him mutter _Bossy_ as he went. Louise chose to ignore it.

"I see you do your crunches," he said out loud, gesturing at her abdomen casually. 

"Ricky? Not the time." 

"I'm adding levity to our situation." In spite of herself, Louise smiled at him. It was true that, given their circumstances, they could use a bit of humor. For a moment, they descended into easy silence. 

"I've been thinking," she said suddenly. Ricky glanced up at her. "You and I, we've both done bad things. That's a guarantee. But it doesn't mean we're bad people. At least, I don't think so." Ricky lowered his gaze, and then nodded. Louise stretched out her hand again, this time palm flat, perpendicular to the ground. "Truce?" Because if she was honest, fighting with Ricky Goldsworth for the past few weeks had given her no joy. And they appeared to have reached a common ground earlier. Louise hoped to cement that into fact. Ricky took her hand, and shook it decisively. Again, she smiled. "Now, back to work." 

* * *

 

It looked as if Ryan Bergara and Shane Madej were closing up shop when Tinsley accosted them outside their office. Which he normally would have felt slightly guilty about, except that they were in a time of crisis, and he needed their help. Cooper lagged behind him slightly, like a menacing shadow. Ryan yelped when he saw Tinsley, before immediately glaring him. Shane followed suit. Which was understandable, given that the last time the three of them had been together they had discovered a gruesomely murdered dead body. 

"What're you doing here?" Ryan demanded, before making note of Cooper. "And who's that?" The other man didn't respond, just waved dryly as he siddled up next to Tinsley.

"Ryan and Shane, D.B. Cooper. Cooper, Ryan and Shane." Shane's face lit up. 

"We just finished a story about you," he commented. Cooper raised an eyebrow. "On the airline robbery from a few years back." 

"Then you're not allowed to quote me on anything I say," was the only response Cooper gave, before nudging Tinsley, as if demanding him to hurry up. Tinsley was rapidly becoming aware that Cooper's devil-may-care veneer was at times only that, a veneer, a mask as common as the ones used at Venice's Carnaval. Tinsley cleared his throat, clapping his hands together. 

"I need your help," he said bluntly. "We need your help." The two reporters looked at each other, and then back at the detective, confused. "We know you've been interested in the Sodder case. We know you did enough follow up to learn about Artemus Ogletree and to try and figure out what had happened to him." Shane shuddered at the reminder, and Tinsley allowed himself to give them an apologetic grimace. "But we need to know if you did anymore follow up on that. On anything relating to that case, in any way." The two reporters looked at each other for a moment, silently communicating. Tinsley waited, shifting from foot to foot. 

"Yeah," Shane said at last. "We did some follow up. Most of it didn't pan out much though." Tinsley shook his head, holding up a hand.

"That's fine." His answer was quick. "We just need to see it, immediately." Ryan raised his eyebrows. "Please?" the detective added. He was aware that it was a bit rude of him to demand they give him what he needed on such short notice, but this was a pressing matter. 

"OK." Tinsley's shoulders sagged in relief as he and Cooper followed the two back to their door. "What's this about, anyway?" Ryan asked as he produced a key from his pocket, unlocking his door as he went. 

"That information's on a need to know basis," Cooper said, beating Tinsley to the punch. Clearly, he didn't have as much faith in the two Unsolved columnists as Tinsley did. "As in, right now you two don't need to know." It sounded a bit harsh to Tinsley. 

"Oh, I'm D.B. Cooper, I'm a mystery man," Shane muttered to himself as the door unlocked, shouldering himself in behind Ryan and ahead of Tinsley and Cooper. The detective couldn't help but laugh at that, and from the corner of his eye he saw even Cooper crack a dry smile. "But seriously, what exactly are you guys looking for? We got a lot of stuff." Ryan dragged out a large looking box from under a desk, setting on the table with a loud _thunk!_  

"Do you guys have anything on the LCD?" Tinsley asked. It was a long shot, he knew, to ask. The only reason he even knew about the LCD was because he'd been in the company of a particular verbose two year old. 

"Is that some kind of drug?" No, apparently Ryan and Shane had not heard of the LCD.

"What about someone named Dr. Fear?" At that, the reporters looked at each other. "You have, haven't you?" Shane nodded, flicking his fingers through the box until he found a file, handing it to Tinsley. It was thick, thicker than anticipated, given how secretive Dr. Fear was. "This is all information on him?" It seemed like almost too much for someone who, according to all of Tinsley's own information, practically didn't exist. If he hadn't seen him earlier today, he might have even thought Fear was some sort of ghost. 

"Not on Dr. Fear." Shane seemed almost uncomfortable using the name. "This is all on something called the Waverly Hills Hospital and Pennhurst Asylum." 

"We think that's maybe a place with a connection to him," Ryan added upon seeing the looks of confusion on Tinsley and Cooper's faces. "They talk a lot about this doctor who worked there, one of the head doctors. He was an already around evil guy. Kept on experimenting on patients, kept on using empty rooms for bizarre secret meetings with random people-" 

"LCD," Cooper whispered into Tinsley's ear. The detective nodded. 

"And sometimes patients from the asylum wing would go missing," Shane continued. "Like, just vanish into thin air. And it was always the same ones: the ones who said they were committed against their will, the ones who said they weren't crazy. Thing is, they never name this doctor, and the Pennhurst Asylum wing has since been closed off for inhumane treatment. So, we've thinking there might be some kind of connection. Nothing we've been able to prove definitively."  Tinsley flipped through the file, the words blurring together in his mind. 

"What's this?" he asked, pointing to a cemetery criss-crossed with police tape. 

"A nurse at Waverly went missing a few years back," Ryan explained. "And then, they found a skeleton in a crypt in one of the town cemeteries. It was a female skeleton, and had signs of a broken neck, which made people think it might be the nurse's skeleton, and that she committed suicide and was hidden. For some reason." Cooper sucked in a sharp breath. 

"What?" Tinsley turned to him. His eyes had gotten wide. "Cooper, what is it?" 

"I know where Ricky and Louise are." 

"Wait wait wait!" Shane held up a hand. "There are people who are missing?" Tinsley nodded absentmindedly. "Why are you here? Call the fucking cops or something!" 

"No!" Tinsley almost shouted it, and the reporters drew back, as if affronted. "We can't call the cops, because we can't really trust the cops." Ryan's mouth dropped open. "It's a long story, and I'll fill you in one day." He waved a hand absently. "But more importantly: Cooper, where are they?" 

"The Owens have a family crypt," he said slowly. Tinsley's heart thudded unevenly. "It's where Louise's parents are buried and everything. I think that might be where Fear put Ricky and Louise." The idea of that did not help Tinsley's anxiety at all. Yes, they knew where their friends were, which yes, was a step in the right direction, but it sent a very strong image. Ricky and Louise were trapped in death, and it was a likelihood that Tinsley and Cooper might not find them on time. 

"Do you know where it is?" Cooper shook his head, looking more disappointed with himself than Tinsley had ever seen him. Tinsley tried not to feel the same way, even though they had once again reached an impasse. Until Tinsley remembered that Cooper hadn't said Louise has a crypt. He said The Owens have a family crypt. And there was one other member of the Owen family besides Louise. "Don!" he shouted excitedly. Shane's eyebrows jumped. Cooper, however, caught on. 

"Don would know where it is," he continued. Tinsley nodded. 

"We need to find him."

"I know where Louise's apartment is." For the first time, Cooper sounded genuinely excited. "We could go there first, see if he's lurking around, see if he even knows about this entire mess. And then, we go from there." Cooper whirled around and headed out the door. Tinsley was about to follow him, before turning back to Shane and Ryan, who were staring at him in bemusement. 

"Don't tell anyone about this," he warned. "Not the police, not your friends, not even your families. This is dangerous territory we're all wading into. And, the next time I call you two, I'm going to ask you to do something for me. Is that all right?" The two men looked at each other again, another silent communication. This time, they both nodded. With that, Tinsley followed Cooper out the door and into the night. 

* * *

 

"I could try to kick it down?" Biting on her thumbnail, Louise paced in front of the heavy wooden doors, trying to figure out the best way to get them to cave. There was nothing in the crypt to help her with that task, despite her secret wish for there to be some sort of workman's iron lying around for her to use as a weapon. So far, she had tried pushing against the doors to see if there was any give, at all. No luck in that department. 

"I wouldn't recommend it," Ricky said from the floor. When Louise looked at him quizzically, he elaborated. "It's only been, what, a few hours since you had your head bashed in against a brick wall?" Just the words made the spot on her forehead ache again. ""You can stand, and you can walk, but I wouldn't recommend the excessive jolting that comes from kicking down a door. You could hurt yourself even more." Louise groaned in frustration, tipping her head back. "You know, you haven't considered the other possible option?" 

"We stay here and rot?" Louise asked morosely. Ricky chuckled, a dry sound, and shook his head. 

"Tinsley could find us before we actually need to hatch an escape plan." Even before he'd finished speaking, Louise was shaking her head. "It's plausible, it really is." Again, she was quick with her denial. 

"Not really." She bit down on her lip. "This isn't meant to disparage Tinsley's abilities, but we've essentially been kidnapped by someone, or a group of someones, who managed to abduct five sentient children from a burning house without complication, and who have since avoided detection from various law enforcement, concerned parents, and not one but two separate private investigative entities." The situation sounded immensely hopeless when she phrased it like that. Which did nothing at all to help calm her nerves, but rather exacerbated them. 

"I wouldn't doubt him," Ricky said. "He's smart. Smarter than a lot of people would give him credit for." He sounded fond, as if recalling a memory of a loved one. "If anyone can give Dr. Fear and the LCD a run for their money, it's him." Ricky huffed out a laugh when Louise raised her eyebrows. "I know, I know. I sound like an idealist." That, in turn, made Louise chuckle to herself, running a hand through her hair. "What?" 

"I told Tinsley that exact same thing," she explained. "I called him an idealist. He'd been on the Sodder case for only a few days, came to my office scrounging for clues. I told him hoping that they weren't dead made him an idealist. Do you-" here she stopped herself, feeling laughter bubble up in her throat, "Do you know what his response to that was?" 

"What?" 

"He says, that he's technically an optimist." Ricky laughed, loud and sharp. Louise smiled at the sound. "I know. Without a doubt a phrase that captures his entire essence." Ricky nodded, sighing. "So for now, let's just say you're an optimist, instead of an idealist." For a moment, they let themselves lapse into an easy silence. Louise let it last, before going back to staring at the doors. Experimentally, she gave them another, harder shove, bracing both hands against the wood. Nothing. Leaning back, Louise gave the doors a small tap with her foot. "Maybe if I build myself up to it?" 

"OK, no. You're not gonna be able to do that on your own."

And then, to Louise's supreme horror, he made as if to stand. And before she could stop him, he actually did manage to stand, bracing himself against the wall and leaning most of his weight onto his uninjured leg. It was only when Ricky attempted a step that things took a turn from bad to worse. She raced over to his side, catching him by the shoulders just as his knees gave out. If Louise wasn't holding on, he would have crashed to the ground. Deftly, she maneuvered them both so that she was able to lay them both on the floor, him lying down, cradled in her lap, clutching at his leg. 

"That was a dumb move." To check, Louise moved her fingers down to the gunshot. They came away spotted with his blood. Gnawing on her lower lip, she passed her hands through Ricky's curls, soft and soothing. 

"In all fairness, I might be dying of blood loss." The flippancy in Ricky's voice was blatantly transparent; Louise could hear the raw fear underneath it. She shook her head, dark hair falling around her shoulders, a curtain framing her face. 

"You're not dying." She said it as if she could will it into existence with her words alone, as if she could make it a fact, a foregone conclusion, rather than a hope. "I'm not going to let you." 

* * *

 

Despite the day being atrocious, the night appeared to be smiling down on them. It didn't make Tinsley feel great, necessarily, but it did make him feel better. Because as they approached the building Cooper said housed Louise's apartment, there was a man leaning against a car, staring up at the windows. 

"Don Owen?" He turned, and Tinsley wracked his brain to come up with the image of the man he and Ricky had meant the night they found Artemus Ogletree's body. Same dark, slicked back hair, same pale and pointed face. It seemed that they had found the right man. "You might not remember me, but we met a couple weeks ago." Don smiled, small and tense. 

"Of course." At least he sounded polite. "I don't think I caught your name, however." Given that Don was, according to Louise, apparently part of a shadow organization that wasn't friendly to him or his, Tinsley wasn't anymore inclined to give his name now as he was then. Don seemed to catch on that he wasn't going to get it. "What can I do for you?" he asked, hands clasped in front of him. Tinsley took a step closer. Behind him, Cooper leaned against the trunk of Don's car, seemingly nonchalant save for the tension in his spine. 

"We need to know where your family's crypt is." Don raised his eyebrows, almost exactly like Louise. Seeing as he was an only child, Tinsley always seemed naturally inclined to notice similarities between siblings. "It's important." 

"It's invasive is what it is," Don snapped. "I barely know you. There's no way I'm just handing out information like it's candy." 

Tinsley was not a violent man by any means. His full name was essentially Charlie Cecil Tinsley, which sounded to him as one of the most non threatening names anyone could have. And he didn't approve of resorting to violence, unless it was absolutely necessary. He was of the firm belief that resorting to his fists rather than his words would get him nowhere, and would hinder more than help anything. This philosophy was one of the main staples of his life, just behind his belief in the inherent good of humanity. But Tinsley, like all human men, had a breaking point, and if he was pushed long enough, he would reach it. This breaking point appeared to be now, the culmination of hours of worry and desperation, fear for people Tinsley was realizing he cared deeply for, combined with the frustration that came from several weeks of stops and starts relating to this case. In this moment, no longer was he a pacifist. He was just a man terrified, and angry in the throes of his terror. 

Tinsley's fists curled in the lapels of Don's jacket, and with lightning swiftness the dark haired man was slammed against the wall, his head knocking back against the stone. Tinsley leaned in close, already tight grip tightening even more. Cooper didn't react to this sudden development at all, as far as Tinsley knew. 

"Listen to me, you sanctimonious ass," he hissed. "All I know about you right now is that you sold out your sister to a psychopath to ingratiate yourself with Illuminati Lite, of all things." Don's eyes widened. "That doesn't provide a very good opinion of you. And on top of that, you're getting on my nerves. Severely. So: where is your family crypt?" Don jerked his head to the side, staring at Cooper. 

"You're just going to let him threaten me?" When Tinsley turned, Cooper nodded, apparently unconcerned. 

"Absolutely," was his nonchalant answer. "You're lucky. If it we're me, you'd have a bruise already." Don paled. "I'm inclined to let him go down that route, if he so wishes, if I'm being completely honest with you," Cooper added. "Because everything he knows, I know. And like the good man said, it doesn't paint a very good picture of you." Don sighed, and then, with vicious anger, pried Tinsley's hands off of him. Tinsley let him, but stayed close, just in case he did stupid, like try to attack him, or try to run. 

"I'll tell you where it is," Don said at long last. "But you have to tell me whats going on first." Tinsley was already beginning to shake his head before Don held up a hand to stop him. "I won't tell anyone. I promise. Because, believe it or not," here he sighed heavily, "I never wanted things to get as far as they got with Louise and that whole saga. I'd make different choices if I could." Behind him, Cooper made a noncommittal hum. Tinsley took a breath, and then a risk. 

"Your sister and my friend are missing," he admitted. "We think it might have something to do with what's been going on recently. What we've all been working on." He stopped himself there, refusing to give anymore information. Don rubbed at the back of his neck, face completely white save for two hectic spots of red on his cheekbones. He pressed his lips together, and finally met Tinsley's gaze with a look akin to shame. 

"It's at the Salem Cemetery." There was no tone in his voice. "On the little hill? Gray stone thing with wooden doors." 

"That, I do know where it is," Cooper called from behind him. Tinsley backed away from Don, almost tripping over his own feet to do so. Cooper caught and steadied him before he fell back on his ass. "We need to get there now." They were about to take off when Don took a step forward. Tinsley tensed up. Was this when he would regret ever divulging any information to the man, like Louise before him?

"Can you..." He stopped, and started again, with a huff of agitated, nervous laughter. "Can you just make sure she's all right?" Tinsley narrowed his eyes. "No trick. No other shoe to drop. Just...make sure she's all right." Tinsley waited, and then nodded slightly. Don nodded too, before seemingly melting into the shadows. Maybe it was an LCD trick. With that over, Tinsley and Cooper took off down the street, each of them sprinting, finally with a. clear destination in mind. 

* * *

 

As previously stated, Louise was no army medic, nor did she have any sort of medical training. But she knew enough from being a lawyer who sometimes dealt with very gruesome things, and one of the things she knew was that anyone losing blood, and feeling lightheaded as a result, could not be allowed to lose consciousness. Which is why she bid adieu to the idea of busting down the crypt doors in favor of keeping her hand on Ricky's leg and keeping him talking. Ricky, to his credit, was also trying his hardest not to pass out. He wasn't talking as often as Louise wished, but so far he was conscious, which was good enough. Even if she was very worried about the entire situation. 

"I kissed Tinsley." Lousie, who had been looking around, snapped back to look down at him. "That's a surprise?" he commented dryly. Louise shook her head. 

"The kissing Tinsley bit, no," she said. "That doesn't surprise me at all." Ricky smiled slightly to himself, as if she'd vindicated something he had been thinking to himself. "I'm just startled that you would tell me it happened." 

"You want me to keep talking," Ricky pointed out. Louise acquiesced with a nod. "We were arguing about you, actually." That didn't surprise Louise in the slightest. "I was worried that if it came down to it, if Fear used what he had against you, you'd rat us out. And that he would get hurt. And he was being an idiot, so I kissed him." Ricky coughed, and shifted slightly. "Not just to shut him up or anything, but because I was looking at him and all I could think about was how much I wanted to kiss him. So I did." Louise smiled slightly. 

"You really like him, don't you?" Her voice was soft. 

"Yeah." Ricky's eyes glazed over slightly, looking slightly beyond her, lost in memories. "I really do like him. And I was wrong about you," he added. "Because later that day, when push came to shove, you didn't just roll over. You fought for us. So just...thank you." Louise was passing her fingers through his hair again, her motions careful and repetitive, a vain attempt to comfort him. 

"Don't say it like you're saying goodbye," she warned him. Ricky's laughter was a huffing breath more than an actual sound. "You're going to be fine." It was a hollow promise, she knew, but she pushed that thought away. Louise was surrounded by the skeletons of members of her family, some well loved and some barely known, and she was in no mood to add another body to the mix. 

And then, startlingly enough, there was a loud banging sound on the wooden doors. 

Outside, oblivious the severity of the situation, Tinsley was banging on heavy wooden doors with his fist. There were chains and a padlock locking the doors together, which was already suspect, if they were in fact in the right location. Cooper, meanwhile, was pacing back and forth, no doubt praying, just like Tinsley, that they were at the right place, the place where their friends were, and hadn't spent this entire time on a wild goose chase. He was out of breath from running, and so was Cooper. 

"Louise!" That was Cooper, impossibly loud, leaving a ringing sound in Tinsley's ears. He was about to tell him to shut the Hell up, before he heard a faint sound from behind the door. It sounded like a voice, a female voice, calling out a response from inside the crypt. That was, in fact, exactly what it was, Louise managing to hear Cooper's voice and, going out on a limb, responding back. It was a shot in the dark, throwing a stone in the ocean and hoping the tide brought it back, but it was better than nothing. 

Cooper shoved Tinsley out of the way, and Tinsley complied, seeing as Cooper had a very large, very sharp rock in his hands. With almost no hesitation, Cooper brought the rock down hard on the padlock. It broke, and Cooper immediately tossed his crude weapon to the side in order to untangle the chains. Tinsley made note to always check for something heavy and sharp in the area, in case he was in a similar situation and had no bolt cutter with him. Eventually, the two men pulled on the heavy wooden doors, and they swung out, exposing the sight within. 

Ricky, blood staining his pant leg, head near Louise. Louise, her hands pressing down on Ricky's wound, fingers red. Both of them staring at their apparent rescuers in relieved shock. It was best thing Tinsley had seen since this afternoon. Louise, meanwhile, would have likely said the same thing, except that the moment she saw Cooper, she stood and flung herself into his arms, clinging tightly to his neck. She felt one hand snake around her waist, keeping her close, the other hand passing through her hair. Louise allowed herself a moment to just stay there, arms wrapped tight around Cooper, letting her heart rate slow to a comfortable rate for the first time in hours, his face buried in the place between her shoulder and her throat, his free hand braced against the back of her neck. After a while she pulled away. 

"Your head..." Cooper's thumb brushed the place where a bruise was forming, livid, around an already scabbed over cut. Louise shook her head, her hands still on his shoulders, one of them clutching at his lapel as if to steady herself. 

"I'm fine, I promise, just help Ricky." 

Tinsley, during all of this, had rushed to Ricky's side, getting him up into a sitting position and trying not to worry about how alarmingly pale he was, compared to earlier today. 

"You found us." His voice was soft, relieved, a whisper of thanks. Tinsley nodded, forcing a smile on his face. It was going to be all right, all he had to do was get Ricky to a hospital, and he would be OK. No one was dead; they'd found everyone alive, safe and sound. Or at the very least, somewhat safe and somewhat sound, which was better than the alternative. 

"Of course I found you." Ricky's dark eyes shone, and for just a moment it felt as if it was just the two of them, alone in the world. Tinsley rubbed a comforting hand between Ricky's shoulders blades. They were all going to be all right. They were all safe. 

For now.


	26. The Crowns of Gold

They had complied with Tinsley's demands. They hadn't printed a word of anything that had happened, or anything relating to the Sodder case, as had been requested. And at first, Shane had been skeptical that the private detective would follow through with his end of the bargain. He did, after all, have other things to do, another job of his that required more attention than spending time with reporters who stumbled upon his case by virtue of nothing more than pure happenstance. But apparently Tinsley was a man of his word, which was why, about a week after he'd accosted them the first time, he was outside the offices again, in his apparently habitual beige trench coat, hat pulled low over his brow. 

"Remember when I said I would need you two again?" Shane nodded. Ryan was tapping a pen against a notebook, filled with notes about the latest case for their Unsolved column. Tinsley zeroed on that, and his blue eyes lit up. "You have one of those too?" Again, Shane nodded. "Good, you're going to need one." 

"For what?" Ryan asked. Tinsley waited a moment for an answer. 

"I need you two as my witnesses," he answered honestly. Shane and Ryan glanced at each other. It was not, of course, the strangest thing they'd ever heard in their lives. But it was a strange thing to say nonetheless. And unless Tinsley was taking them to court to protest a traffic violation, it made no sense at all. 

"What for?" Tinsley, who had been staring off into the distance somewhat, looking at neither of them, snapped to face Shane directly. Tinsley had an affable face, one that seemed open and friendly without even trying. But there was a bizarre tilt to it today, as if he was a drawing by a cartoonist who was feeling just the slightest bit off. Shane decided it was better not to ask questions.

And so here they all were, at some random apartment, Ryan and Shane with their notepads and pencils at the ready as Tinsley banged his fist against the door. Finally, they heard the sound of a lock clicking and a chain sliding out of its place, and the door was opened by a petite, frail looking woman with dark hair and eyes. Without even hesitating, Tinsley forced the door all the way open and barged into the apartment without a word. Ryan and Shane swiftly followed, Shane mouthing a brief apology as he passed the woman. 

"Detective Tinsley, what exactly do you think you're doing?" The woman sounded appropriately affronted considering they may have just broken into her house. Tinsley didn't even turn to look at her. 

"I need to speak to your husband, Jennie," he said evenly. His back was straight, unbending. "Now." Apparently, Jennie decided that it was better to do as Tinsley asked **_(_** was it right to say ask, given that there was no questioning upward tick? **_)_** and disappeared into another room. Shane inched forward towards the detective. 

"Where are we?" Tinsley turned again to face the two reporters. Normally, his pale blue eyes added to his entire friendly demeanor, as long as he wasn't upset or emotionless. When he was, they got icy, devastatingly cold, as if they belonged to someone who would have no problem gutting you with a knife and then walking away to leave you die. Which, logically, was ridiculous, given that Tinsley was one of the most emotionally open people Shane had ever met. But that was what he looked like now, a degree or two below freezing. 

"This is where the Sodders are living now." 

"What?!" Ryan's entire face scrunched up, the way it did whenever he was startled by a new piece of information. "OK, the last time you mentioned the Sodders, you told us to stay as far away as we could from all of this! And now you're dragging us into the thick of it?" 

"I told you not to tell anyone what we were talking about that night," Tinsley clarified. "And I meant that. But the Sodders aren't the danger here." Shane cleared his throat just as Jennie Sodder entered the room with an older man in slacks and an undershirt. George Sodder, most likely. He stiffened when he saw Tinsley, and Tinsley faced him, back ramrod straight. 

"Oh, what are you doing here again?" George Sodder sounded more exasperated than anything else, as if Tinsley was a pesky mosquito instead of the man hired to find his children. Shane shared a glance with Ryan; they both clearly found the immediate confrontational tone to be suspect. 

"No gun waving this time? I'm impressed."

" _Gun?_ " Ryan mouthed, looking absolutely horrified. Shane shrugged, a jerky movement.

"I'm here for you," Tinsley continued, shifting as he crossed his arms over his chest. "And I brought new company this time." Shane waved as Sodder's eyes flicked over to them, though he did shuffle a bit away from Tinsley. 

"As I see." Sodder sounded unimpressed. "What happened to your older, ruder companion?" That, apparent by Tinsley's sudden stillness and the way his face appeared to go blank, save for a sort of blue fire appearing in his gaze. Shane resisted the urge to grab at Ryan and flatten them both against the wall. 

" _Ricky_ is currently recovering from almost dying of blood loss." Jennie Sodder gasped, and Shane's eyes went wide. Sometimes, it really did suck not to have all the information. "He was shot, and he was locked away to bleed out and die, which is what would have happened if he hadn't been found." Tinsley's voice shook slightly. "And that's all because of you. Because you refused to tell me anything, so we had to be a bit more ostentatious with our poking around. And the result was that someone I care for quite a bit almost died." Tinsley was enunciating every word carefully and meticulously, but most of all forcefully, as if that was the only way to stop himself from just flat out yelling. Shane respected that. 

"How exactly is that my fault?" Sodder asked. That seemed to be the clincher for Tinsley, who took a step towards the other man as if he was about to punch him in the face. 

" _Because the only member of this family who's given me any help at all is your particularly verbose two year old!_ " Shane furrowed his brow in confusion, but thought it better than to ask. Tinsley's voice was in that hoarse, emotional place that was just a shade below yelling, and even the Sodder parents seem taken aback by it. "So you're going to tell me everything. Because these two are reporters." He gestured to Shane and Ryan, who nodded. "And if I don't get all the information, I will give them my license to publish everything I tell them about you. About how you are actively hindering an investigation into the disappearance of your own children, about how your secrets are killing those children, about how now two men have either died or come close to it to fill in the blanks when you refuse to do so." Sodder sat down on his couch heavily, like a marionette whose strings had suddenly been snipped. Tinsley, on the other hand, remained upright and straight backed. 

"What do you want to know?" The detective took a breath, uncrossing his arms and linking his fingers together

"All of it." Shane flipped to a fresh page in his notepad. "Dr. Fear. Le Corone D'Oro. Everything." Sodder nodded with a deep sigh. Tinsley was still standing, waiting. 

"Le Corone D'Oro translates to the crowns of gold," he began. 

"Write that down, write that down," Ryan hissed, poking Shane in the ribs. The other man shot him a look, but did just that. 

"I don't know how much you know-" Sodder started again, before Tinsley interrupted him. 

"I know it was an old Italian secret society that was active up until around the beginning of the Renaissance era, and that there are theories that, rather than disbanding, it might have gone underground." Sodder nodded again as Shane began to scribble. 

"That's exactly what happened," he explained. "There were religious crackdowns on organized societies, and Italy being the Catholic country that it is, made sure that Le Corone D'Oro was completely gone. But it didn't leave. They went underground, as you said, and have been active ever since. It's a modern, multinational society now, which seeks to exercise it's control over everything from economics to politics." 

"How do you know all this?" Shane asked. Sodder looked at them, eyes heavy. Jennie had gone to sit down next to her husband on the couch, hands folded in on each other. 

"When I was a young man, I was a member." Again, Shane and Ryan looked at each other. Already, this was shaping up to be a rather meaty confession. "A teacher of mine, from school, came to me soon after my brother passed away. He persuaded me to join, to find a family within the society. And I, weakened as I was by my loss, agreed." 

"That's how they recruit members." Tinsley's voice sounded very far away. "There's someone, here, who's a member of the LCD. According to his sister, he joined up a little bit after his parents died. They must get young people who are emotionally vulnerable and suffering a tragedy, and manipulate them into joining by whatever means possible."

"That's sick," Ryan muttered. Tinsley spared a moment to look at him. 

"Yeah. They are." He turned back to George Sodder, and motioned for him to continue.

"I was an active member of the LCD," he nodded to Tinsley as if to give him copyright credit for the nickname, "From then on. And I remained a member for a longtime. Even after I met you," Sodder touched Jennie's hands lightly, "Even after the birth of my children. They suck you in, with promises of security and power and wealth, and by the time you come to your senses, if you ever come to your senses, you've done too much, seen too much, to be able to leave. It's a lifelong membership, in most cases."

"But not for you," Tinsley murmured.

"Not for me," Sodder agreed.

"Why?" This was Ryan, who was leaning forward slightly, staring intently at the interaction. Apparently, it was solely up to Shane to keep notes and records of what they were hearing. The next time they went out to investigate a heist or a murder, this was totally going to be Ryan's job. "If they're so adamant that you never leave their cult, why would you? How did you?"

"A few years back, the LCD embarked on a rather ambitious project. There was an important political election that year, one that had massive implications throughout the country. The LCD got it into their heads to interfere. There were plans to buy off rivals of one of the candidates to get them to drop out, plans to spread disinformation to undecided voters, plans to blackmail pollsters to falsify ballot information. They had an entire system but. But I..." Sodder paused, and wet his lips. "I don't know why, but that was my line. That was the one thing I could not see happening. They were attempting to subvert the democratic process, and for some reason, that was all it took for me to defect." Again, he stopped, as if gathering his courage. Tinsley appeared less rigid now, as if sharing this story was softening him back to his natural state. 

"Tell me." He was no longer confrontational, and that was apparently all Sodder needed. 

"I reported everyone involved to the authorities. I went to the _carabinieri_ , and told them everything. All the men were arrested." Tinsley nodded, and began to pace.

"But if you reported it to the police, there would be a record of it," he said. "And I've gone through everything I could possibly go through. There's no record of the LCD existing past the Renaissance, never mind into the present day."

"I said nothing of the LCD," Sodder explained. "That would have been too dangerous, even for me. I reported the men as individual entities, not connected to any specific organization. And, loyal as they were to their cause, they never spoke of it to the authorities. The LCD remained a closely guarded secret."

"You said that the organization made sure people weren't able to leave." The reporter in Shane was coming out, and he tapped the eraser of his pencil against the paper in thought. "How did reporting a massive election fraud scheme lead to you being able to escape, for lack of a better word?"

"They would have figured out it was me who made the report eventually," Sodder said. "So I left the country with my family. It was a secret plan, and I made sure no one knew of it." 

"One day we were there, and the next we weren't." Jennie Sodder didn't say it like a fact, she said it like a revelation, as if this was the first time she was putting the pieces together. This only cemented Shane's belief that she really had been in the dark about her husband's clandestine activities. Judging by their expressions, Ryan and Tinsley likely felt the very same way. 

"But that didn't stop the LCD from tracking you down, did it?" Tinsley's tone was inquisitive. 

"It didn't," Sodder admitted. "They figured out where I was after a while. As I said, it's a multinational society, with many resources. So even as I tried to start a new life, they were there, watching me, threatening me and my family." 

"The life insurance salesman," Ryan said to Shane. Shane was about to write that down when Tinsley held up a hand. 

"He's not a life insurance salesman," the detective said immediately. Shane raised an eyebrow. "I checked with every possible insurance company in the city, and they never sent anyone to your former house." This was directed at the Sodder parents. "And an...associate said that there was evidence this 'salesman' was nothing more than one of Dr. Fear's many underlings." Shane repressed a shudder. With each new bit of information that came out about Dr. Fear, the more the guy gave him the willies. He was just an all around creep. "Dr. Fear is a possible higher up of the LCD here," Tinsley explained, seeing Sodder's confusion at the name. 

"That makes sense." The man's voice was heavy. "And you're right, it wasn't a life insurance salesman. It was a member of the LCD, and quite possibly a man working for this Dr. Fear you mentioned." Even Sodder seemed to get a chill from the name. "And the next thing I know, my house is ash and my children are gone." He scrubbed a tired hand over his face. Jennie's eyes were ringed with red. 

"You think your betrayal of the LCD is what led to their abductions." Again, Tinsley wasn't asking a question. 

"I cannot think it otherwise." There was a silence after that, stretching on and on and on. Shane looked at his notes, a jumbled mess of an intricate tale that spoke to a far deeper conspiracy than he could have ever possibly imagined. 

"Thank you, Mr. Sodder," Tinsley said after a while. With a twitch of his head, he motioned for Shane and Ryan to follow him out the door, letting it close with a soft click. It was a far cry from the bang of the door when they had entered, what felt like hours ago. "I have another favor to ask," he told them, almost apologetically. 

"Let me guess." Shane pressed his lips together dryly. "We're not allowed to publish one word of this in our column."

"That, and that any tips you have about this case, could you give them to me before running them?" His gaze was earnest as he looked at the two reporters. Shane felt no reason to refuse him. After all, apparently being involved in this case meant dealing with the potential of getting kidnapped, or shot, or having one's house burned down. He didn't want that, and he suspected Ryan didn't either.

"Will do," Ryan said, flicking a two fingered salute to Tinsley. The blond detective smiled, and this time, when his robin's egg blue eyes lit up, it was with a kind light, the flickering of a candle, rather than the raging inferno of a forest fire. 

"I'll make you a promise." Shane and Ryan looked at each other, intrigued. "Once I find these children, and once this is all over, I'll give you two an exclusive interview about everything, no holds barred." He stuck out a hand, and both reporters shook it eagerly. 

"Deal!" Tinsley smiled again, before stuffing his hands into the pockets of his beige trench coat and making his way down the stairs. Shane sighed, closing his notepad and tucking it back into his bag. 

"I should have followed my dreams and become a cartoonist," he grumbled. Ryan looked aghast. 

"Oh, Hell no!" He was emphatic about it. "I read those ideas of yours, remember? The-the stupid story about the hot dog family and the evil witch and the time traveling and that stupid French fry character with his band and the possessed raccoon-"

"That story would have been adored by every single viewer!" Shane argued. "It would have been beloved, and deserving of every award a journalistic cartoon could possibly receive." Ryan shook his head, seemingly aghast. Shane continued. "And now that you've brought it up, I've been thinking of possibly adding it to the column, like a little present for all our dedicated _Unsolved_ readers, so they can appreciate these rich, layered characters."

"I hate you so much right now." 


	27. Forgive Me For I Wish To Sin

If he thought about it, St. Monica's truly was a beautiful church. To be fair, Tinsley didn't have many churches to compare it to, but out of all the buildings he had seen in his life, St. Monica's truly was superb. It instilled a sense of wonder in him, which Tinsley supposed was the point of a church. He had rarely gone to them, but not even he, who had gone toe to toe with some of the city's most dangerous men, could escape the almost dangerous awe of standing, dwarfed and penitent, outside a house of God. The awe was mixed with nerves, nerves that had nothing to do with the building, and everything to do with the person inside it. And of course, there was only one person he really knew who would be passing the time at a church.

Tinsley had kept his distance from Ricky. Not because he wanted to keep his distance, but because of a variety of extenuating circumstances. First, he just let Ricky recuperate from getting shot in the leg. And then, it just became avoiding him because he wasn't sure if Ricky thought kissing him actually meant anything, or if it was just a heat of the moment think. But avoiding one of the people central to his investigation wasn't doing wonders for said investigation, so he had quizzed Selena this morning as to where Ricky could be. She named St. Monica's, and so here he was again, chasing after a man who seemed more riddle snippets than actual human flesh.

He was scared. Tinsley was scared that talking to Ricky about everything that happened would lead to answers neither of them wanted, and that the delicate partnership they'd forged since he first broke into the detective's apartment would all fall apart. And that wasn't what he wanted, not in the least. He enjoyed Ricky's companionship immensely, and in recent days had even come to need it, finding it almost impossible to imagine facing each daunting task that had been put before him alone, without the other man's reassuring presence by his side. 

"Can I help you?" Tinsley turned to face the voice that had just spoken to him, a voice belonging to a nun with warm brown eyes and laugh lines sewn deep into the skin around her mouth. "You seemed apprehensive." 

"Not of the church," Tinsley said quickly, lest she think he was possessed by a demon or something else that would warrant a fear of churches. "There's...I need to talk to someone." He heaved a sigh. "And I'm a bit nervous about what that talk might come to." The nun nodded solemnly, and then placed a hand on Tinsley's arm. He found the gesture oddly comforting. 

"Maybe you're right to be nervous," she began, and Tinsley was forced to briefly reconsider his common association with religious folk being helpful. "Or maybe you're wrong. But you won't know until you go in there, and confront that fear. And no matter what happens," here, her eyes flicked up the steeple of the church, "Know that, even if things don't go according to your plan, they are according to someone's. And He will be on your side, even in unexpected ways." Tinsley might not have believed that earlier in his life, but now, one investigation and a series of random happenstances later, he couldn't quite scoff at the notion that there was some divine play in motion, with him and his friends at the center. 

"Thank you." Tinsley bowed his head slightly; it seemed like the appropriate thing to do. Squaring his shoulders, he took a deep breath and walked through the heavy wooden doors and into the church. The entire place felt suffused in a golden light, and almost completely abandoned save for one worshipper and a practicing children's choir, and he spotted Ricky almost immediately, as if he'd begun looking for him as soon as he step foot inside. Perhaps he had, and hadn't even realized it. Ricky was not praying; his head was unbowed and his shoulders straight. He appeared to be staring at the crucifix, and as Tinsley nervously approached, it appeared that the other man's dark gaze was contemplative. His wounded leg was slightly stretched out, moreso than the other leg, tucked firmly under the pew, no doubt in order to minimize pain. Tinsley felt a stab of guilt at seeing that. 

Ricky hadn't noticed him, deep in his thoughts as he apparently was. If Tinsley were more of a coward, this would be a perfect opportunity for him to back away and exit the church, leaving Ricky alone with the soft strains of young male soprano, singing what sounded like _Ave Maria_. But, to Tinsley's credit, he was no coward. He had come this far, and he would see this through to its end, no matter what it is. Fiddling with his collar, he cleared his throat, made his presence known. Ricky turned, eyes widening once he spotted Tinsley. They stared at each other for a while, wordless. 

"Hi." Ricky's voice was slightly breathless, and Tinsley bit down hard on his lower lip. 

"Can I sit?" Ricky nodded, scooting over slightly in the pew so that Tinsley had enough room. He didn't seem in any particular discomfort as he did so; perhaps his leg was coming along better than Tinsley had realized. The detective sat down, just inches away from Ricky, and pressed his palms down on the pew, staring at his knees. Neither of them said anything for a while, staying in an awkward silence. Tinsley heard an intake of air from Ricky a few times, as if he was trying to start a conversation, and then losing nerves. Good, Tinsley wasn't the only one. 

"Why?" Tinsley finally looked up and turned his head to Ricky full on his face. His hands were folded loosely in his laps, one dark curl falling over his forehead, as if shaken loose. 

"Why what?" 

"Why did you kiss me?" Even in the midst of a conversation about one of the more heightened emotional moments of their time together, Ricky still managed to make raising his eyebrows seem sardonic. "It's a serious question."

"No, I know." It was Ricky's turn to look down, the foot from his uninjured leg tapping out an odd beat. The silence went on, the only sounds to soft singing of the choir and Ricky's foot tapping against the floor. Tinsley waited. "I kissed you," he began, slightly hesitant, "Because I like you. I like you because my friend, and because you've always been there for me when I needed it, and ready to give me a hard slap of reality when I needed that to. And I kissed you because when I was looking at you, suddenly, all that was going through my mind was that I really wanted to kiss you." Tinsley felt his cheeks heat up slightly. "Also, you're not bad looking, you know." They both smiled slightly. Again, silence. 

"I like you too," Tinsley said after a while. "As a friend, and as more." It sounded embarrassingly hokey for him to say. "And I think I have for a really long time." He heard a strained huff from Ricky. "I really think it might be the most I've..." He struggled for the word. "Felt for someone in a long while. But I know the kind of job that I have." 

"What?" Tinsley swiveled in the pew so that he was fully facing Ricky now. 

"I'm a private investigator." Ricky nodded. "I'm a private investigator investigating a dangerous case that got its last PI killed. Brutally." Ricky winced slightly at what was no doubt the memory of Ogletree's bloody corpse. "This case is...well, it's pretty contentious. It's already gotten people hurt, gotten people dead." Almost involuntarily, he glanced down at Ricky's leg. The other man opened his mouth as if to interrupt, but Tinsley forged ahead. "And I'm scared." No, he didn't sound very scared when he said it, but he felt, a deep and gnawing fear just under his belly button. "I'm scared that if I put my heart on the line, if I give it to someone, then something happens to me and the only thing to come out of the entire sad saga is someone with painful memories and a wish they'd never met me." 

"Is that all?" Ricky's voice was dry, but his face was soft, as if he was unsure where to walk the line between exasperated and empathetic. Tinsley shook his head. 

"Something could happen to you." He was no longer speaking in hypotheticals now, and Ricky's back straightened. "Something already did happen to you. You got shot, Ricky you almost _died_. We're going after dangerous and powerful people. _I'm_ going after dangerous and powerful people, and that got someone I cared about caught in the crossfire." 

"I can take care of myself," Ricky pointed out. "I'm a grown man with my own life, and I look after my own wellbeing. It's my decision who I get romantically involved with, and I don't actually take possibility of bodily injury into account when I fall for someone." Tinsley pressed his lips together, looking back down at his knees. Ricky was right, and Tinsley took a moment to evaluate that. 

He was also taking a moment to do what he did best, be logical, and attempt to list the various pros and cons of opening his heart up to Ricky Goldsworth. He felt that he'd listed the cons fairly well in their conversation. As for the pros, there was just one, a glaringly large one that was repeating itself over and over in Tinsley's mind, beating against his skull. He wanted Ricky. He liked him, as he said, and the looming prospect of just abandoning ship, running away with his tail between his legs, without even trying to see if this could work, if _they_ could work, left a bad taste in his mouth.

Ricky, meanwhile, seemed to take Tinsley's silence as a flat rejection. And he was graceful about it, to his credit, even though he had no clue what was truly going through the detective's mind. "Right," he said softly, shifting in the pew. "I won't push it, Tinsley." He said it as if it was supposed to be a comfort. As if his bowing out was what Tinsley wanted. Ricky made as if to stand and leave. And Tinsley forgot where they were, forgot that they were in a church. All he could think was _Don't leave_.

He kissed Ricky. 

Which was, in hindsight, really not the best thing to do in a church, but, like Ricky before him, all Tinsley could think about in that moment was just how much he wanted to kiss the man sitting next to him. It was more than a want, it was an all encompassing need, a fire that had propelled him forward. It was that fire that he was stoking now, with his hands framing Ricky's face, fingers on cheekbones, lips on Ricky's lips, so close he could smell the faint scent of roses and holy water on his skin, a scent that had infused the church, but seemed more present on Ricky's skin. And unlike Tinsley the last time, there was no hesitation before Ricky responded, kissing him back. It was a long kiss, and after they parted, Tinsley noted that they were both slightly short of breath. 

"We're going back to my apartment," he whispered, so close that he could feel Ricky's breath on his skin. Ricky looked at him, something twisting and smoking in his dark eyes. 

"Together?" Tinsley's lips twitched upward, and if they hadn't already violated some type of church decorum, he would have kissed Ricky again. Instead, all he did was trace his thumb along his jaw, taking a moment to enjoy the silkiness of the skin on skin contact, to satisfy the craving for it that had been building up, silent and persistent, from the first moment they'd touched, from the first moment they'd laid eyes on each other, from the first time they met. 

"Together."


	28. Liver Heart

It was one of those peculiar days. The clouds were a dark gray, and it was that type of rain where it was slightly more than drizzling, but not quite actually raining. The type of rain where most people didn't go out, so the streets were relatively empty of cars, and the children shrugged on their rain slickers and spent their day playing in the road. That was what was happening on the street between the infamous alley and Tinsley's office/apartment. No one was in the alley, but Tinsley, accompanied by Ricky, Louise, and Cooper, was in his office, ensconced safely away from the cold and the wet. 

"All right, so say those reporters are right and Dr. Fear is that same doctor from Waverly Pennhurst." They were, all of them, trying to figure out where Fear and the LCD would have taken the Sodder children. So far, nothing they had posited so far appeared to be good enough. This was Ricky's latest theory. "The Pennhurst Asylum is technically closed down, and it was a separate building from the main hospital, so maybe he could just be hiding the children there?" Tinsley perked up slightly at the idea, before Cooper shook his head. 

"That wouldn't work." Tinsley visibly deflated. "If two reporters can put the pieces of that puzzle together, than we would have, eventually. It would be too risky to keep the Sodder kids somewhere with so blatant a possible connection." The detective pressed his lips together, breathing in through his nose. He probably loathed that Cooper was right. Not because he had anything against the idea of Cooper being right in and of itself, but because he, like everyone else, no doubt wanted to find these kids sooner rather than later. 

"Fuck," he muttered, low under his breath. Ricky chuckled, and even the sound of it allowed Tinsley to smile slightly, eyes sliding over to Ricky. Cooper had made note of a certain warmth between them in the recent days, but made no comment of it. It wasn't his place to pry. "Am I the only one who wants to find a quick and easy answer to this?" 

"Trust me, you are definitely not alone in that." Louise, who had been leaning against the desk, peeled herself off, running a hand through her dark hair. 

"Have they come to you at all since the..." Cooper let his voice trail off, and no one bounded in to interrupt him. No one knew precisely what to call that day, filled with twists and turns as it had been. Louise, in response to his open ended question, shook her head. 

"Unsurprisingly, no they have not," she answered. "I think punching their lead sleaze ball in the face kind of settled the debate about whose side I was on." Cooper raised his eyebrows almost in spite of himself, and Tinsley's back appeared to spasm as if he had just choked on air upon hearing Louise's words. 

"Wait." He held up a hand. "You punched Dr. Fear? In the face?" Louise nodded, a self satisfied smile turning up the corners of her lips. Cooper felt a bizarre sort of pride at the confirmation, as if she'd just admitted she'd won an election for a public office. Tinsley's eyebrows had hit his hairline. "That's badass!" he hissed, with a healthy dose of admiration. 

"It really was," Ricky added, though he was smiling at Tinsley the entire time he was speaking. Louise shook her head, as if the boys' antics were exciting nothing more than a fond exasperation. She walked over to the window behind the desk and pulled up the shades, staring out at the gray sky, and then down at the street below. Cooper noticed her shoulders tighten slightly. 

"OK, let's keep the shades down," Tinsley said, moving to draw them back down. Louise held up a hand, tilting her head slightly. 

"You haven't made any calls today?" It was worded like a statement, but the upward tick of a question was unmistakable. Tinsley shook his head in confusion. "All right, so can someone explain why the Dynamic Duo is here?" Cooper and Ricky both went to the window, and sure enough, wrapped in thick coats and heading to Tinsley's door were none other than Shane Madej and Ryan Bergara, heads bowed against the drizzle and the cold. 

"What are they doing here?" Ricky asked. Tinsley shrugged his shoulders, looking puzzled. 

"No clue," was his answer. Louise turned away from the window and went to the door, grabbing her red coat and her scarf as she went and pulling it on, winding a scarf around her neck. 

"I'm gonna go see what they want." And with that, she was gone, letting the door close behind her. Tinsley shrugged, and drew the shades back down firmly. Cooper raised an eyebrow at him. 

"I like having them down," Tinsley said in defense, before going to sit in his desk chair. He twirled in it for a moment, clearly absentminded, gnawing on his thumbnail in thought. "OK, we've spent a lot of time looking at the _where_ of the Sodder kids case." Ricky and Cooper nodded. "What about the _what_?"

"I'm not following." Cooper leaned forward slightly, pressing a hand against the desk. 

"So, Fear took the kids." Tinsley spread his hands. Cooper was coming to the conclusion that Tinsley really liked talking with his hands whenever he could. "He basically admitted that to us." Here, he nodded to Cooper. Ricky made a huffing sound, low in the back of his throat. "And we know _why_ he took the kids, because the LCD wanted to get back at George Sodder for betraying them to the police and then defecting. What we don't know," and here, Tinsley thumped his hand against the desk emphatically. "Is what they're planning to do with the kids."

"So what are some theories?" Ricky asked. "What could some creepy organization want with five kids?" 

"More members?" Ricky and Tinsley both whirled around to face Cooper. Two pairs of eyes, blue and brown, stared into his. "They're not gonna just be taking care of five people out of the kindness of their hearts," he explained. "What if they really wanted to hit the nail on the head, really twist the knife in George Sodder's belly? They manipulate and train and indoctrinate his missing children into the very organization he fought so hard to leave." 

"Jesus Christ," Ricky muttered. Tinsley opened his mouth, likely to elaborate on or even deny this possible theory. Before he could, the door to his office banged open, making the three men jump and turn to look at the source of the noise. Louise was back, hair slightly damp from the bad weather outside, unwinding her scarf and shrugging off her coat in two fluid motions. She was followed by Shane and Ryan, who looked very worried. Louise looked absolutely livid. 

"Louise?" Tinsley stood, moving over to the trio. 

"We've got a problem." She jerked her thumb towards the two reporters. "And you can thank Thing One and Thing Two over here for bringing it to our attention." 

"Hey!" Shane looked slightly affronted at the moniker. Louise didn't appear to care. "She's right, though," he continued. "You've got a problem." Tinsley tilted his head, almost like a confused puppy. 

"So, you know how you told us to give you any tips about this that came to us?" Ryan began. Tinsley nodded. Louise walked over to the desk, arms crossed over her chest. "Well, we got a letter from the minister at that one Presbyterian church near the fire department. He got this from someone inside the fire department, who wrote down something the fire chief was going around telling people." Ryan handed Tinsley a crumpled piece of paper, which Tinsley took. The detective unfolded it, his blue eyes scanning the page rapidly.

"Oh my God." It was a horrified whisper, and Tinsley pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, his shoulders slumping. Ricky took a step towards him. 

"What's going on?" he asked, clearly concerned and echoing Cooper's own feelings. Tinsley looked at him, something unreadable in his pale blue gaze. 

"The fire chief-" Tinsley stopped himself, took a deep breath, and started again. "The fire chief is going around telling people that he has found human remains among the ashes of the Sodder house." Cooper's eyebrows hit his hairline, and he felt the air flee his lungs, as if he'd been punched in the stomach and had the wind knocked out of him. 

" _What?!_ " Cooper's voice pitched dangerously high. Louise had been right, this was a problem. A problem far bigger than what he'd anticipated. "Wait, what kind of human remains?" 

"A human heart." At that answer, Cooper gagged slightly. "The fire chief said he's put it in a dynamite box and buried it on the property." Ricky held his hands up, palms flat out, as if trying to physically block the flow of conversation. 

"Hold on." His gaze flickered from Shane and Ryan to Tinsley. "You said you searched that entire lot. You said you searched it twice. Thoroughly." Tinsley nodded. 

"Exactly," he said, rubbing at the back of his neck. "I scoured that place each time. There were no human hearts, inside or outside of a box, of any kind." Shane furrowed his brow. 

"So then how would it have gotten there?" he asked. It was a legitimate question, and for a moment Cooper was truly confused. And then, a low, awful sound from Tinsley. He scrubbed a hand over his eyes. 

"What?" Ryan demanded. "What?!" 

"The heart isn't from the fire." For a few seconds, silence from everyone in the room, as they struggled to catch up to Tinsley's rapid fire mind. Louise was the first to understand, putting a hand to her mouth as if about to be nauseous. 

"Oh, Jesus." There was a mixture of anger and disgust in her voice that only gave Cooper cause for more worry. 

"Can someone fill the rest of us in on this?" Shane sounded almost annoyed, though if Cooper knew people as well as he thought he did, that annoyance was likely borne from a place of worry. 

"It's a message," Tinsley explained slowly. "For us. From them. They're actually getting worried that we're getting too close. They're feeling the weight of all of this. So they sent us a message of what'll happen if we keep going." Cooper turned his head away slightly, feeling ill. This time, he did no exactly what Tinsley was talking about, and it sent waves of nausea through his body. 

"You think..." Ricky swallowed. "You think that they...killed one of the Sodder kids and left that kid's heart for us to find?" He sounded almost incredulous, but not in the typical way, the way that conveyed ridicule at an idea so outlandish. This was the incredulous tone of someone who couldn't physically imagine anyone doing anything so horrifically fiendish. 

"Their leader gave Louise a concussion, shot you, and then left you both for dead in a locked crypt," Cooper pointed out, his voice devoid of emotion. "I think it's safe to say these people have neither morals nor scruples with murdering children to make a point." Shane and Ryan shuddered almost in perfect tandem. It seemed an appropriate reaction to this entire sordid business. 

"So what do we do?" Ricky asked, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Do we back off?" 

"No." Tinsley's voice left no room for any possible argument. "No, we're not backing off. But tomorrow I'm going to the remains of the Sodder house, and I'm going to see what this is for myself." His tone made it clear that Tinsley would accept neither persuasion nor dissuasion, that anyone who tried to talk him out of this idea would be foolish to even try. Tinsley was determined to see this thing through to its end, and his determination was a quality Cooper might have otherwise found commendable. But there was potentially a dead child with a cut out heart, a dead child who died due to too close a proximity to an organization that would eradicate anyone and anything that stood in their way. Future entanglements did not bode well for either Tinsley or his determination. 

"I'm coming with you," Ricky said suddenly. Tinsley turned to stare at him. 

"Ricky-"

"That wasn't a suggestion." The two men stared at each other. Tinsley back off first, dropping his gaze and then looking back at Shane and Ryan. 

"Thanks for bringing us this." He didn't sound very thankful when he said it. Ryan nodded, looking ever so slightly green. Again, another silence, this one thick, sticky, and heavy, stretching out and on for quite a while. "Ricky?" The dark haired man perked up. "You're the only one of us who can be categorized as even remotely religious." Ricky nodded, fidgeting with his fingers. "Do me a favor?" There was a slight, pleading whine to Tinsley's voice. "Pray. Because I really don't want this to be what I think it is, and God might be inclined to agree." All things considered, with everything taken into account, it was a perfectly rational request for Tinsley to make. 

Because God might be all they could count on now.


	29. Sounds Like A Race for C.C. Tinsley

It was still cold, as always, but at least the sun was shining. It made this entire sick, sadistic subplot of their investigation seem the slightest bit less sinister than it had under gray clouds and rain. Tinsley's car was parked just a little bit away from where the Sodder house once stood, and he and Ricky were making their way towards the remains of a family's home. It was the type of cold where it ached slightly when Tinsley took a breath, or maybe that was just his dread seeping through into his physicality. 

"I did pray, by the way." Tinsley turned to Ricky, who was walking alongside him, one shoved into his pockets and the other fidgeting restlessly. "Don't know how much good it'll do, but I prayed anyway." Tinsley caught Ricky's free hand, rubbing his thumb against the knuckles. 

"Thanks." He was sincere when he said it, and kept their hands interlocked only until they finally reached the house.  There was a damp, smokey smell to the air, the mixture of yesterday's rain and the ashes of the Sodder house. Tinsley stood still for a moment, looking at the blackened remains. "Where would someone bury a dynamite box?" he wondered aloud. 

"Probably not somewhere within the actual skeleton of the house, I'm guessing," Ricky answered, even though Tinsley had mostly been talking to himself. When the detective turned to him, Ricky shrugged. "Well, it's not very stable, is it? It was basically burned to ash. So it would be very unsteady, and someone wouldn't want to put themselves near there even to bury human remains." 

"That's... actually really smart thinking." Tinsley didn't mean to sound as surprised as he did; he was more astounded that the idea had somehow not come to him as well. He was rewarded with a smug smile from Ricky, who then branched off to his left, looking for an easily distinguishable lump in the earth, or some other sign that would clue them in to where the fire chief had buried their telltale heart. Tinsley began searching too, occasionally kicking aside piles of dirt to see if they hid anything. They did not. As the two men searched, the **_(_** figurative, seeing as it was practically rubble **_)_** shadow of the Sodder house loomed over them. 

"Tinsley!" He straightened his back. Ricky was staring directly at the road, his brow furrowed. Tinsley followed his gaze, and noticed the black car that, slowly, very slowly, making its way down the road, as if the driver and possible passengers were searching for something too, except not bothering to get out of the car for it. Tinsley stood stock still, did nothing but watch as the black car inched itself forward. Ricky as well was immobile, and if both men had been asked what they thought they were seeing, both would have had _hearse_  spring to their minds. Which was ridiculous, but certain dark thoughts came to mind when being possibly stalked via car. 

But it never approached. It never veered off the road or stopped, or did anything at all other than just drive by really slowly. The only odd thing was that, soon after passing by the edge of the Sodder property, the car began moving at normal vehicular speed, and disappeared soon after as the road curved away, back towards the city. The two men looked at each other, gazes full of mirroring confusion. 

"That wasn't bizarre at all," Tinsley muttered to himself, sarcasm thick in his voice. With only the slightest amount of hesitation, he and Ricky went back to looking, though it took a few moments for the bizarre, creepy feeling from the car's presence to wear off. It felt sinister, somehow, and even though nothing had happened that could in anyway be construed as sinister. It dissipated soon, however, replaced with the preoccupying thoughts of finding the boxed heart, and the implications of what it could mean if it was what the private detective thought it was. 

"I've got something!" Ricky's shout made him jump slightly, and he whirled around, about to tell Ricky not to be so very loud, when he saw why the other man had called out to him. There was dirt staining his hands, and at his feet was a plain and small dynamite box. The fire chief had said he had buried the human remains in a dynamite box. Tinsley hurtled himself towards Ricky, nearly tripping over a rather large rock in the process. Lucky, he caught the edge of Ricky's coat sleeve and steadied himself before face planting in the ashen earth. There was a lock on the box, and for a moment, Tinsley wondered if this meant they would have to now go accost the fire chief.

The idea of driving back into town with a potential human heart in his backseat was not at all pleasant. 

Instead, Tinsley grabbed the rock he had nearly tripped on, remember Cooper's particular method for breaking the padlock on the doors of the Owen family crypt. Kneeling down in the dirt, he brought the rock down hard on the lock, and it broke with a metallic clanging noise. Tinsley discarded it quickly as Ricky crouched down next to him, hands curled into fists. With trepidation, Tinsley started to open the lid slowly, feeling his fingers shake slightly. As if ripping off a bandage, he flung the lid open, allowing the contents of the box to see the light of day, and be seen by the two investigators. Dried blood flaked on the side of the box, and there was an off smell that soon dissipated in the air: the smell of rotting meat. 

Tinsley burst out laughing, a keen note of hysteria to it. Ricky furrowed his brown and looked at him, likely wondering if he needed to call up Waverly Hills Hospital and ask them to prep the closed Pennhurst Asylum for a new patient. Tinsley shook his head, folding his hand over Ricky's in a silent reassurance that, no, he had not suffered from a sudden psychotic break. Or at least, he was fairly certain that wasn't what was happening. One could never be sure, after all. 

"It's..." Tinsley was overtaken by another fit of giggles, and fought hard to suppress them back down in his chest. "It's a liver. It's beef liver!" Again, he started laughing, more out of pure relief than anything. There were no dead children. There was no mysterious heart in a box. There were no sinister implications. It was just beef liver, stuffed in a box. Ricky huffed out a relieved sigh, hanging his head and letting the tension ease out from his shoulders. He had a relaxed look about him, one Tinsley had seen only rarely. He liked that look. 

"So." Ricky stood, dusting his palms on his pants. Tinsley stood with him, though he made no attempts to clean himself off. He would wash his clothes when he got back to his apartment. "It's not a human heart," Ricky confirmed. Tinsley nodded, his lips twitching upwards. "Why the _fuck_ did the fire chief go around telling rumors to the minister that he found human remains and buried them on the property?" 

"Hell if I know," Tinsley responded with a shrug. In this case, he was willing to let it go unsolved, to let the mystery simply be a mystery. 

"Maybe he wanted to give them closure..." Ricky's guess trailed off as Tinsley raised a disbelieving eyebrow at him. "No?" 

"Ricky? _No_." This time, Ricky did chuckle, no doubt feeling the same thankfulness Tinsley was. A day with no dead children, with a ridiculous lead that went nowhere, was a good day, considering everything. "Let's go back home," he said, heaving a deep sigh and letting himself smile. The two made their way back to the car, deciding to leave the boxed beef liver where it was. Let some bird happen upon it and have a feast; they had no need for anything they had found there. As soon as both seat belts were fastened, Tinsley drove off, peeling away from the curse and heading back towards the city. 

"Are you gonna convene the council with Louise and Cooper when we get back?" Ricky asked. Tinsley shook his head, keeping his eyes firmly on the road. 

"No," he answered. "I'll just call one of them and tell that one to pass the news onto the other. There's no need to drag them all out of their houses when we don't have to." Ricky hummed in lieu of a response as Tinsley turned a corner. There were no cars in front of him, just a seemingly endless stretch of road in front of them, with only the occasional house on the side. Clouds dotted the sky, white and fluffy, but the sky was a grayish blue color, hinting that the cold weather wasn't over yet. 

"Um..." In his peripheral vision, Tinsley saw Ricky twist around in his seat and stare behind him. Tinsley glanced in his rearview mirror to see a black car driving dangerously close behind them, as if all the driver needed to do was just barely tap on the gas pedal to crash into the back of Tinsley's car and send them flying forward. "Is that the same car as before?" Tinsley wanted to say yes, even though he'd only seen the car from before from a distance. But it did seem strange that he was inches away from another vehicular incident. 

"I'm gonna try to lose them," he warned Ricky, and out of the corner of his eye saw Ricky grab his armrest. There was a white flash as his knuckles tightened. Tinsley jerked his wheel to the side, and swerved into the other lane. For a moment, the other car didn't follow, just increased speed, and Tinsley wondered if maybe this was something innocuous after all, and the driver just needed to get somewhere relatively quickly and was trying to tell Tinsley to move. But then the other car swerved into the other lane too, and would have collided into the corner of Tinsley's bumper if he hadn't immediately stomped on the gas pedal, shooting his car forward and eliciting a high pitched yelp from Ricky. 

Immediately, Tinsley jerked the car back into the right lane, this time swiftly followed by the other car. It continued to tailgate them, and times Tinsley felt the tiniest bump, as if the car was nudging them to go faster. 

"I've got a bad feeling about all this," he told Ricky, still not taking his eyes off the road, fingers clenched around the steering wheel. There was a sardonic sound from the passenger seat. 

"You think?" His voice was ever so slightly tight. Tinsley felt that similar thrum of nervousness; he was far too over the speed limit for it to be comfortable, and he was being tailgated by a car that seemed intent on causing an accident. Given that this was most likely the same car that they had spotted at the Sodder house, it was hard not to find a connection. And given the fact that they were dealing with people who were unusually adept a murder, Tinsley was in no mind to brush this off as a once off encounter with a madman. 

"I might be about to do something crazy," he warned, taking a brief moment to glance first in his rearview mirror **_(_** the dark car was still dangerously close **_)_** and then at Ricky, who gave him a disbelieving look. Instead of protesting, all the dark haired man did was cross himself and press his lips together so tightly they paled. Tinsley squeezed the steering wheel slightly, and swallowed past a lump in his throat. 

He stomped on the brake pedal, jerking his car to a sudden stop. Their pursuer rammed into them with a metallic screeching and then a heavy crash, shoving the car forward and jolting the two passengers. Ricky peeled his forehead off the dashboard, looking dazed. Tinsley immediately pressed on the gas again, pulling them away from the crash and onto the road again. But instead of merely hightailing it away, Tinsley went a little distance away, before pulling into an abrupt U-turn, and heading back to the other car. He curved again, and then rammed his own vehicle into the car's side, sending it spinning away. It stopped for a moment, battered and smoking inside, the lone driver with a long, bleeding cut above his eyes. 

Tinsley recognized the eyes. Dark, small, cruel, and finally managing to focus on him and him only with a burning hatred that felt as if it should make the detective burst into flames on the spot. Dr. Fear. Tinsley's eyes glanced down at the license plate, repeating the sequence of numbers and letters to himself as fast he could in the few seconds of time he had: A90132. Without hesitation, Tinsley plowed into the car again, hearing the crunch of metal on metal. Not bothering to wait and see what happened, he turned the wheel and drove off down the road as fast as he could, rubber tires squealing against the asphalt. Though there had been no physical exertion, he was breathing heavily, and felt a flush of heat across his cheeks. 

"Was that-" 

"Yeah." They didn't need to say his name. The rest of the drive was quick, given Tinsley's speed, and silent, given how shaken they both were. However, Tinsley made a decision soon after they entered city limits: he wouldn't be going back to his apartment. It wasn't safe anymore. "Do you trust me?" he asked Ricky, pulling up along a sidewalk and turning to look at the other man. Ricky stared back at him, a bruise forming on his forehead and curls disheveled, but his dark gaze even and clear. 

"Yes." There was no hesitation when he said it, and both question and answer had an undercurrent of something in it, something unspoken but implicitly known. And for a brief moment, despite the potential imminent peril, Tinsley thought briefly of actually saying it out loud. "And..." He stopped himself, putting the car into park instead. 

"Me too." There was no hesitation on that one either. Tinsley nodded, pressing his lips into a thin line. For a moment, the air felt more charged than it had during the car chase. 

"So you won't ask questions if I do something a bit...strange?" 

"Stranger than you using your car as an attempted murder weapon?" A thin note of humor wove its way through Ricky's words, and Tinsley allowed his lips to quirk upward briefly. "I think after that, I've had my surprise quota filled for the day." Pleased with the response, Tinsley opened the door and got out of the car on legs that were only slightly shaky, motioning for Ricky to do the same. Across the street was an apartment complex Tinsley had only visited once, one decidedly a bit more upper scale than his. Ricky raised an eyebrow at him. 

"I don't know if my place is safe," was his explanation. Ricky nodded; apparently getting to that conclusion was a no brainer for him as well. They began to walk, and didn't stop until they were outside the door of one of the upper, larger apartments. Tinsley knocked once, a sharp rapping sound on the wood. 

Louise opened the door, the most relaxed Tinsley had ever seen her, though she did appear very surprised at Tinsley and Ricky's appearance outside her home. "What the Hell?" Tinsley shouldered his way past her into the apartment, followed by Ricky. "No, really, come right on in," he heard her mutter sarcastically to herself as she closed the door behind her. 

"I am sorry about barging in," Tinsley said before anything else as Louise went to go sit down in a chair. "But we need to stay here?" Louise's eyebrows hit her hairline. 

"Why?" she asked. 

"Fear just tried to turn Tinsley's car to rubble on the way back from the Sodder house." Ricky's tone was blunt, as if describing another afternoon. "Also, the fire chief was an idiot and just put beef liver in a box before telling everyone it was human remains. So that's today's one piece of good news." Louise took in the influx of information fairly stoically, crossing her arms over her chest. 

"Spare bedroom's that way," she said simply, nodding her head in its direction. "And the living room couch does double as a pullout bed in case you to weren't at the share a bed stage of your relationship yet." There was a dry choking sound from Ricky, and Tinsley felt the tips of his ears burn. Louise smiled slightly. "I won't pry." She stood, holding a hand out to Tinsley. The detective stared at it, unsure of whether he was supposed to take it or not. "I need your keys. I'm assuming your car is parked near her, so I'm gonna move it to make sure I don't get unpleasant visits from the good doctor." Tinsley did have the keys clutched between his fingers, but he didn't immediately hand them over. 

"I'm gonna need the car," he said. Louise furrowed her brow. "I need to go back to my apartment to get the LCD files, all of my case notes. They're indispensable." 

"Are you insane?" This was Ricky, who had a look on his face similar to that of someone having an aneurysm. "The reason we're here is because a psychopath just tried to run us down and he might go to where you live. And you want to go back?" 

"I need to get them from their hiding place," Tinsley argued, before Louise held up a hand. 

"I'm with Tricky Ricky on this." It was Tinsley's turn to feel surprised. "You going back to a place that's been compromised is a stupid idea. Give me the keys, and while I'm moving the car, call Cooper and tell him to go get them. He's the one who's most likely _not_ to die if encountered with professional killers." Grudgingly, Tinsley agreed it was a good plan, and handed the keys over to her. She left, while Ricky went in the direction of the guest room, no doubt to check and make sure that their various collisions hadn't left him with anything more severe than a bruise. And then it was just Tinsley, alone with his thoughts and the image of Dr. Fear's fiery gaze burned into his mind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bonus points for anyone who knows where i got the chapter title from!


	30. A Fearful Discovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A brief note: this chapter is in a different format than the majority of the story, due to what goes down in it. Additionally, and most importantly, there is a homophobic slur used once in this chapter. If that makes you uncomfortable, or unable to read the chapter, message me and I'll happily give you a synopsis so that you don't feel lost.

Researching the number of the license plate had been a long shot. Tinsley had been dead certain that he would not find anything in Dr. Fear's name on anything, but maybe he would find just a general something. And he had, in fact, not found anything with Dr. Fear's name on it, or with anything that could be considered incriminating for either him or the LCD. But he had found both a registered car **_(_** likely the same one he'd trashed **_)_** , and a townhouse in the city, both registered to the name _Banjo McClintock_. Tinsley wasn't sure whether that was a real name or not, but still, he got the address anyway, and stood in front of the townhouse now, praying that, if this was a lead, Dr. Fear wasn't inside with a gun at the ready and a crypt waiting in the wings. 

Climbing up the short flight of stairs, Tinsley crouched, removing two bobby pins from his coat pocket. Slowly, methodically, with the care he'd developed over five years of doing a job that often required discretion and illegalities, Tinsley picked at the lock until he heard a definitive _click_. Standing, he twisted the doorknob, and inched the door open, praying it wouldn't have rusty hinges to creak or squeak and alert a potential inhabitant to his coming. Thankfully, there was no noise, and Tinsley stepped into the house, softly closing the door behind him. The hallway was dark, and it was silent. It felt as if the house was empty. Still, Tinsley approached cautiously, one foot stepping carefully in front of the air, always poised to run should he find himself accompanied by an occupant. 

He was in the clear, he discovered eventually. As Tinsley made his methodical examination of the downstairs floor, there was no one who appeared from the afternoon shadows, and there were no sounds from the upstairs to suggest that someone was in the house, or even anywhere near the house. Still, Tinsley did not turn on any lamps, or open any curtains, letting the late afternoon light shine in through the drapes, a faint illumination at best. There wasn't much in the downstairs, just a kitchen and a dining room and study, which Tinsley began to rummage through. Almost everything was open, and had nothing inside it. There was, however, one locked drawer on the desk, firmly shut. Swiftly, Tinsley unlocked it with his bobby pins, pulling it open.

Inside were a few loose sheafs of paper, as if they'd been stuffed in the drawer haphazardly. Tinsley extracted one paper carefully, making sure to remember where it had been so he could put it back exactly as it was before and not tip off anyone of his presence here. In meticulous, handprinted writing, were the words Mandich Twins Experiments, Pennhurst Asylum, Phase Two. Tinsley skimmed the writing briefly, and then immediately grabbed at the rest of the papers, reading over each one quickly and carefully, though not to thoroughly. If he actually read everything in detail, he would be sick. 

Somehow, Fear's time at Waverly Hills Hospital and Pennhurst Asylum was worse than Tinsley could have ever imagined. Not only did he blatantly and flagrantly abuse the mental patients, he went the extra mile. Protected by an institution that cared little for its patients, the papers Tinsley had found documented countless human experiments, thousands of hours cutting and slicing and splicing, poking and prodding and a variety of other things that could only be described as torture. It made Tinsley gag just to read the most cursory descriptions of it, though he read enough to notice a pattern: Fear was obsessed with siblings. Mandich twins. Butler sisters. Pierre brothers. The list when on and on, and most of his human experiments seem to deal almost exclusively with siblings, though there were a few exceptions. 

Tinsley thought of all those theories that he and Ricky and Louise and Cooper had postulated, trying to figure out where Fear had taken the Sodder children, trying to figure out what he was doing with them. What if they were the next experimentation, one he would begin once the hysteria of their parents had died down and the world forgot about them. Just the thought of it made the detective's stomach roll, and he placed the papers back in the drawer with care **_(_** even though he wanted to rip them all up or take them to the police **_)_**. Standing, Tinsley made his way up the stairs to the upper floor. There was nothing but a dusty silence, save for the detective's breathing. There were only two rooms. A bathroom, which Tinsley gave only a cursory glance **_(_** he didn't really want to poke around Dr. Fear's toiletries **_)_** , and what could only be the bedroom.

It was so bizarrely normal. Looking at it in the golden, fading light of dusk, no one without prior knowledge of its occupant's dastardly deeds and history, it was an ordinary room, seemingly belonging to an ordinary person. There was a bed, made with tight hospital corners, and a bookshelf that had very few books in it, and a desk that seemed to be covered in an inch of dust; apparently Dr. Fear did most of his nefarious desk work downstairs in the study Tinsley had just left. There was also a closet with slat doors, just ever so slightly opened. Tinsley made into the room towards it, feeling his heart rate pick up ever so slightly. It was stupid, he knew, but it felt as if some ghost or ghoul or demon or even Dr. Fear himself would jump out from the shadows and give him the fright of his life. 

Tinsley hesitated ever so slightly, his hands on the slat doors, steeling himself. Hopefully there would be no literal skeletons in this closet. Sucking in a deep breath, he wrenched the doors open, preparing himself for whatever was in there. And he was surprised by the contents of the closet, or rather, the sheer lack thereof. It was completely empty, the shelves and hangers bare, devoid of any garment or shoe or accessory. There was only one thing, tucked away at the bottom in the dark; a metal box, not entirely dissimilar to that where the idiotic fire chief had put his 'human heart' in back at the remains of the Sodder house. Tinsley knelt, and picked up, rattling it slightly. It was light, easily held in one hand, but there were sounds of whatever lay within when Tinsley shook it, as well as the clank of the miniature padlock that was keeping it shut. This lock the detective picked as well, and the lid sprang open, revealing more interesting contents. 

There was a gun. Small, handheld, easily hidden on someone's person. Tinsley checked it, and every chamber save one had a bullet in it. Was this the same gun that had shot Ricky, that had almost killed him? For the first time since he'd entered this house, another emotion threatened to overpower Tinsley's trepidation: rage. He put the gun to the side focusing on the other item in the box: a notebook. Tinsley removed it too, and began to flip through the pages. Unlike the papers downstairs, chronicling horrible abuses of power and gothic horror experiments on those incapable of fighting back, everything in the notebook seemed incredibly benign. Written down in the same even, neat print as the experimentation papers, were lists. Lists of people, lists of places, lists of objects, none of which Tinsley recognized or could piece together into the current narrative. 

But this was Dr. Fear. The man who always had something up his sleeve, the one who always had careful plan after careful  plan in place to make sure nothing went any way other than his. Tinsley peered at the last written pages of the notebook. One was a list of names, none of which he immediately recognized. The other was a seemingly innocuous list of ingredients. Some types of cloth, various types of motor oil and fire starters. It was only one thing that caught Tinsley's eye. There was a specific type of varnish, often used to refurbish wooden floors or balconies that, if not properly dealt with, could quite literally spontaneously combusted. Tinsley knew of its existence investigating the seemingly mysterious death of Mary Reeser, over two years ago. The fact that it was showing up here, once again, made Tinsley's blood run cold. It seemed like reading the name of that one specific paint clinched everything together in his mind, and the apparently benign lists no longer seemed so benign. Snapping the notebook shut, Tinsley closed to box, devoid of its contents, and relocked the padlock, putting it back in its original position. The notebook he shoved into his coat pocket, and the gun he tucked into his belt, the handle pressing against his skin. Carefully, he left the room, and made his way back the stairs. 

He was just about to go into the hallway when he heard footsteps, muffled voices, and the sound of a key in a lock. Thinking quickly, Tinsley fled into the stairwell, pressing himself against the wall, where he wouldn't be seen by anyone until they were right near it, staring directly up at him. He held his breath. 

"I don't give second chances." It was an ominous thing that Tinsley heard when the door opens, but he recognized the soft, cold voice that spoke it. The door closed with a sharp sound, and the detective heard two set of footsteps in the hallway. "You tell me there's no need to get rid of the attorney, that we use her to our advantage, and where exactly did that get us?" 

"I thought it would work." Unlike Dr. Fear, Tinsley had some trouble placing this new addition. He figured it out largely due to the conversation they were having. "It seemed like the best idea at the time," Don Owen continued, his footfalls becoming louder, coming closer. Without thinking, Tinsley had his hand on the handle of Fear's gun. There was a sudden thump, and a gasp from Don. 

"Does it seem like the best idea now?" Fear's voice was dangerous, deadly. Tinsley pictured a scene. Don, pale and drawn and likely terrified out of his mind **_(_** at least, Tinsley would be if his madman Mafia-linked boss was at the end of his rope **_)_** , pinned against the wall by Dr. Fear, menacing, out of his mind, furious. "Because now she's working with that brat detective who's proving very hard to find." It felt like someone had poured ice water over the aforementioned brat detective's head. 

"We'll find him." Tinsley wondered if he was the only one who could hear the slight tinge of panic in Don Owen's voice. 

"Oh, you lot'll do more than find him." There was a single footstep, and Tinsley imagined Fear releasing Don, stepping away and straightening himself so that he didn't look disheveled. "I want him dealt with." Vividly, Tinsley remembered looking into Fear's eyes after he totaled the other's car. He remembered that absolute intensity of those eyes, the burning fury of them, the gaze that said that there was no one the good doctor detested more, in that moment, than Tinsley. Apparently, the loathing was still going strong. 

"Sir-" There was the sound of a sharp slap, violent and harsh skin on skin contact, and Tinsley winced, screwing his eyes shut. He remembered what George Sodder had said, about how the LCD preyed on the weakness and vulnerability of young people in mourning and desolation, and he felt a stab of pity for Don Owen. 

"I want him dead." There was a quiet fury in Fear's voice, and Tinsley's hands shook. "I want this over with, _finished_." He had a slight growl in his voice, as if, in his soft anger, he was going slightly feral. "I'm not going to lose just because some faggot in a trench coat got sentimental over these kids." Don didn't say anything, but he likely nodded, grinding his teeth to make sure he didn't speak out of turn again. There were footsteps again, and this time Tinsley did take the gun out, holding it in his hand by his side, finger on the trigger and thumb prepared to click off the safety. However, they swiftly receded, as if whoever was walking had gone into the kitchen or the study. Tinsley relaxed. Maybe he could wait them out. 

And then there were different footsteps walking, quicker and lighter. And before Tinsley knew it, Don Owen was at the bottom of the staircase, staring at him with his mouth wide open and gaping. His eyes flickered downwards, registering the gun Tinsley held at his side. Slowly, the detective lifted his free hand, his index finger in front of his lip. Very quietly, he made a _sh_ sound, hoping his gaze conveyed a silent warning. The two men stared at each other, two fighters on the opposite side of a battle. In spite of his calm exterior, Tinsley's heart was racing. He had just heard Don promise Fear that he would be found, and he had just heard Fear make plans for his death. Was this to be their final showdown? 

And then, Don did something odd. He took a step back, and flattened his palm against the air, parallel to the floor. There was a bruise forming on his face, no doubt where Dr. Fear had struck him, and it looked almost black in the dusky lowlight.  _Wait_ , the other man mouthed, and then swiftly turned on his heel, disappearing around the corner. Tinsley did wait, hardly daring to think or breathe. Don's footsteps retreated in the same direction as Dr. Fears, only this time, Tinsley heard the sound of a door slamming shut. 

Taking the chance, he darted out from the stairwell, and raced down the hallway and out the door, and then down the stairs outside and across the road, almost getting flattened by a speeding car. He didn't stop running until he was a few blocks away from that townhouse and everything and everyone within. A stitch complaining painfully in his side, Tinsley leaned against the side of a wall, drawing deep lungfuls of air, his legs shaking so badly he was worried he would collapse. Still firmly in his pocket was the incriminating notebook, giving him all the details he needed about the night of the Sodder fire, and being tucked back into his belt now was the gun. 

A new, crystal clear thought began to form in the detective's mind, and it wasn't one he liked. Slowly and surely over the course of this investigation, he was proving more and more willing to do whatever it took to see this through to its bitter or bittersweet end. But what would this end in? Would Tinsley, the next time, be forced to pull the trigger? Would he do it, if it came down to it? And if Fear was truly determined to make him the next bloody corpse found in a motel as a warning, would he even have a chance? 


	31. The Children Who Went Up in Smoke

_December 25th, Christmas Day_

**8:45 at night**

 

The house smelled like the holiday festivities. Of smokey woodfire, of pine needles, of gingerbread cookies, of warmth and security. There was still a fire flickering in the hearth, though it was mostly red hot coals at this point, on the cusp of death. Toys and wrappings and crumbs and water droplets that were once snow littered almost every inch of floor in the house. This night, it was George Sodder who put the children to bed, tucking them and arranging the blankets around them, placing a dry kiss on each forehead and leaving doors firmly closed or open enough to allow a crack of light through, depending on the age of the occupant and how much they feared the dark. Jennie Sodder, before beginning to clean the house, rocked the toddler Sylvia to sleep gently, humming a soft lullaby. 

Eventually, the children were asleep, the house was clean, and the fire in the hearth was little more than red hot coals still sending out the occasional puff of sparks. George settled in his armchair, the lamp near it turned on, and read the paper, the first time he'd been able to do so all day. Jennie was still sweeping up the last remnants of childhood mess when the phone on the chair side table rang, sharp and shrill. Quickly, she grabbed at it and pressed the phone to her ear, hoping the noise hadn't woken the children. 

"Hello?" On the other end of the line were faint sounds of other people talking, mingling. Jennie assumed whoever the caller was had to be at a late night Christmas party. "Hello?" Eventually, a crackling of static on the other line. 

"Where are you?" It was a woman's voice, high pitched and faintly harsh, despite the jovial nature of her tone. Jennie furrowed her brow, meeting George's eyes above his newspaper. There was a question in his eyes: _who is it?_ Jennie shrugged, tightening her grip on the phone ever so slightly. 

"I'm sorry, who are you?" There was a pause on the other line; Jennie didn't know what to make of it. She could still hear conversation on the other line, soft and barely audible, a mixture of voices, some light and some serious. A sigh, white noise coming across the line, at long last, and it sounded almost overbearingly sheepish.

"I must have the wrong number," the voice on the other line said, yet even as she continued to sound apologetic, there was almost something...sarcastic in her tone, as if she had been let in on a joke while Jennie remained in the dark. Her voice had a bite to it, not malicious but almost playful, the voice of someone participating in a game involving the blindness of one of its other members, a game that needed the occasional play acting of contrition. In spite of herself, Jennie felt her spine go rigid. She was in no mood for crank calls tonight. 

"I'm afraid you do." Her voice was stiff, polite. "And I would appreciate it if you not call here again tonight. My children are sleeping." A hum of acknowledgment from the other line was all Jennie needed to end the call, and return to her cleaning. George, who had gone back to his newspaper reading in the short span of time the conversation had taken place in, looked up at her again. 

"Who was that?" he asked, brows knitted together. Jennie scoffed lightly, though her lips briefly pressed into a thin line.

"Either a wrong number or someone playing a joke at a Christmas party," she said, waving her hand dismissively. "It's nothing. Finish your paper and then we should head the bed." She laughed at her husband's mischievous wink. "For sleep. It's been a long day." 

Meanwhile, the woman on the other end of the line hung up her phone decisively. She was at a gathering, Jennie Sodder had been somewhat correct in that, but not a party. Without hesitation, the woman dialed another number, and waited patiently as it rang. Eventually, there was a click on the other line as her intended conversation partner picked up. 

"Is it a go?" The question was a soft one, as if the person talking rarely spoke at full volume. 

"The children are sleeping, according to the wife," the woman relayed, this time letting a sardonic smirk twist up the corners of her lips. "You can go ahead as planned." On the other line, a small huff of laughter, one filled with a cruel mockery and derision, on that implied chaos to come. With a sick smile of her own, the woman hung up the phone, and returned to her gathering, passing a long nailed hand over the shoulder of a young man with pale skin and gelled back hair. Let the good doctor and his minions handled this unpleasantness. She would enjoy the last few hours of Christmas. 

 

_December 25th, Christmas Day_

**9:05 at night**

 

Jennie Sodder had done a late night check on the children, both upstairs and downstairs, before sliding into bed next to her husband. True to form, he was already asleep from the moment his head hit the pillow, deep and even breaths adding a steady rhythm to the air. Jennie reached up and turned off the bedside lamp, plunging the entire house into darkness. Despite the absence of light, she struggled to follow George Sodder into sleep, tossing and turning in their small bed, her eyes stinging and heavy, yet somehow unable to allow them rest. She sat up, clicking the light on again. 

 _Just a final check on the children,_ she thought. For some reason, she felt oddly nervous tonight, keyed up and too tightly wired. Bizarre yes, but as she checked up on the children, each sleeping peacefully in their respective beds, clearly safe and at peace, Jennie breathed a sigh of relief, returning to her bed. This time, when she turned off the bedside lamp, she felt the fatigue begin to settle in her bones. She snuggled under the covers, blankets up to her shoulders, and closed her eyes. This time, with no trouble at all. She drifted off to sleep. 

Outside, a black car, quiet and practically invisible in the inky black of night, pulled up by the Sodder house. Luckily for the driver and unluckily for the family, their's was the only house for about a mile. The driver turned back to face his two companions, one of whom was readying the last of the rope and gags, the other who was finishing putting together the ingredients necessary to create a homemade pineapple bomb. To the driver's morbid pleasure, the explosive bang it made excited him. They sat for a moment, quiet in the night. 

"Is this everything we need?" one of the men asked, gesturing to the notebook he was getting his instructions from, a notebook that would later mysteriously vanish from the driver's house one afternoon, along with a gun. "Am I good?" 

"As long as you don't light it until you're ready to toss it in," the driver explained, his voice dry and soft. "Those things are flammable and explosive to an astonishing degree." The man in charge of the pineapple bomb glanced at it warily. "And you?" The man with the rope nodded affirmatively, as if being addressed by a drill sergeant. The driver smiled, and opened his door, stepping out into the night. "Let's go." 

The two helpers made their way towards the coal trucks George Sodder had parked by the house early this evening. They had, on top of their preparations, the job of making sure that any means of swift transportation was cut off following the impending disaster. The driver, meanwhile, crept quietly to the porch, and methodically picked the lock, sliding into the darkened house as soft as a mouse. It still smelled like Christmas, like children and laughter and warmth. He tried hard not to focus on the irony of it. 

He bypassed the bedrooms of the children downstairs, slunk past them and up the stairs with quick ease. They would be easier to handle; they were close to the door. His main concern right now were the five children upstairs. There were more of them, for one, and for another he would be trying very hard to get them down the stairs, out the door, and firmly in his grasp without either of them making a sound. 

He was prepared for this, of course. He was prepared for the difficulty. It was why, while his two companions had many different preparations and gadgets in their hands and at their feet, he had only one: a long, thin knife, wicked sharp and with a curved point, the edge serrated like the teeth of a predator. He took it out now, just as a precaution, and slowly, cautiously, pushed open the door to the nearest room. There, sleeping peacefully, one hand curled around a stuffed bear, was a small girl. Betty Sodder, if his information was working in his fear. 

Dr. Fear felt a slow smile spread across his lips as he stepped into the darkened room, his shadow obscuring Betty's face. 

 

_December 25th, Christmas Day_

**9:18 at night**

 

Maurice Sodder awoke to someone violently shaking his shoulder. Blinking, he sat up, preparing to focus on whoever had woken him up in pitch darkness and commence the yelling. Before he could, a hand clamped tightly over his mouth, silencing him. Eventually, Maurice's eyes adjusted to the darkness. Louis was the one closest to him, the one whose fingers formed a makeshift gag. Martha and Jennie were a bit ways off, holding their hands tightly, looking pale and shaken. And then there was Betty, tear tracks on her cheeks, stuffed bear still clutched in her hand. There was a knife held very casually at her throat, a knife attached to a hand currently resting on her shoulder. The hand itself was attached to a tall, thin stranger, with salt and pepper hair, dark and cruel eyes, and a cruel, thin face. Maurice leaped out of bed, shaking of Louis's hand, wondering if he should attack the intruder directly or holler. 

"Ah ah ah." The stranger's voice was barely a whisper. "I wouldn't." The hand tightened around the knife handle, and Betty looked at him pleadingly. Maurice grabbed at Louis's shoulder, pulling his little brother tight against him. The younger boy was shaking. "You and I are going to lead your siblings out of here, completely silently, and out into the front yard. One sound, and Betty will," the intruder leaned forward, a malicious smile twisting his face into some horrible grimace, "D-I-E." Maurice felt a shudder run up his spine. 

The intruder stepped aside to let Maurice and his siblings pass, his hands still wrapped around Betty. Meekly, unable to do anything else, Maurice complied, ushering Jennie and Martha and Louis down the stairs silently, keeping them always in his sights. He thought, briefly, about running to his parents' room, or trying to get to John's room downstairs for his help. But what would happen to Betty if he broke ranks? Would this horrible, terrible stranger really do it? Would he really kill her, an innocent little girl? Maurice had a sneaking suspicion that yes, he would. There was something calculating in the stranger's eyes, something cold and awful. 

No sooner had Maurice stepped off the porch was he immediately grabbed by an unseen assailant, one hand wrapped tight around his torso and the other clamped over his mouth. Immediately, he struggled, until he got a vicious clubbing to the back of his head. He went limp, stars swimming in front of his eyes. Around him, his siblings had already been subdued or were in the process of being subdued, dragged towards the dark car, with a blinding white license plate the only truly visible thing in the dark. Maurice saw Louis fighting valiantly, and mouthing something to himself, what he wasn't sure. Eventually, his hands were bound, along with that of his siblings, and his mouth gagged, and he was tossed in the car. 

Dr. Fear kept his knife at Betty Sodder's throat, waiting until all the other children were properly secured. The whole thing could have taken no more than ten minutes, maybe eight. He shoved the shivering little girl towards his closest companion, who dispatched her the same way he had her siblings. With this time frame, he should be able to go back and take the children downstairs with similar ease, and be gone before George and Jennie awoke and realized that their precious brats were missing. The trunk of the car slammed, a bit too loudly for Fear's tastes, interrupting the process of his thoughts. 

"We good, boss?" Fear nodded absently, still thinking carefully, opening his mouth to instruct the two to come with him this time, should some of the older children try to put up a fight or call out for help. Before he could, he heard the striking of a match, the hiss of a flame. He whirled around, livid. The goon in charge of the pineapple bomb, clearly not realizing or remembering that they had four more targets to get ahold of, had already lit the fuse. 

"You absolute fucking moron!" he whispered furious, feeling the hand holding the knife rise just a titch. But it would do no good to deal with him now, not when their time frame was so short. "Give it to me, now," he ordered in a low voice, and the idiot quickly complied, face white as a sheet. He knew, just like everyone under  the good doctor's thumb, that Fear did not abide failure. Without hesitation, Fear threw the pineapple bomb with all the strength he had, watching it crash through the window into the upper level of the house. "Ladder broken?" A nod from Goon #1. "Engines gone?" A nod from Goon #2. A grim, horrifying smile from Dr. Fear as a light, not electric, began to flicker in the Sodder house. "Off we go." 

 

_December 25th, Christmas Day_

**9:26 at night**

 

Jennie wasn't entirely sure whether she woke on her own or because of a noise. She was groggy, disoriented in the darkness. Above her, on the upstairs floor, she heard the sound of something rolling, like a canister or a bottle. Jennie briefly wondered whether Martha and Jennie had woken up and begun playing some sort of game, and pondered whether she should get up and reprimand them for it. Her body decided for her, a large yawn opening her mouth as wide as it go. She would figure out whether they were up after hours tomorrow. Ruffling a hand through her hair, Jennie sank back under the covers, shutting her eyes and preparing to go back to sleep to the sound of George's deep, even breathing. 

She smelled the smoke before she noticed the flickering light. At first, she was confused, unsure of what exactly was going on. Through the crack under her door, Jennie noticed an orange, trembling glow, and smelled something thick and acrid. Like the smell of a woodfire, but more bitter, more dangerous, more deadly. Fatigue forgotten, she was instantly alert, shaking George with all her strength. He woke up with a groan, before sitting abruptly, no doubt smelling what she was smelling, inferring what she was inferring. 

_Fire._

"Get the baby!" he ordered brusquely, already sprinting out of bed and out the door. Jennie heard him bellowing words she couldn't quite make out as she ran to Sylvia's room. The infant was already awake, and beginning to fuss. Jennie picked her up in her arms, rocking her even as she darted for the main doorway, out into the night, soon followed by George, John, George Jr., and Marion. 

It was a horrible sight that greeted them. Already, somehow, the flames were eating away at their home, rising high in the air in orange, red, and yellow hues. Jennie could already feel the heat, see the sparks and the smoke, engulfing everything they ever knew. She and her children stared in abject terror, mouths gaping. George, however, was already thundering back inside, to try and get Maurice, Martha, Jennie, Louis, and Betty. Jennie started after him, before John pulled her back, making sure she didn't rush headlong back into the inferno that was once their home with the baby in her arms and panic on her mind. George Jr., however, had no such reservations, following his father before he could be stopped or even tackled, even as his mother and his siblings screamed for the two of them. 

Back in the house, George Sodder's eyes stung, and he already felt sweat begin to form on his brow from the blazing heat of the fire. He stumbled towards the staircase, pajama shirt held in front of his nose and mouth to minimize smoke inhalation. But there was no staircase now, nothing but a cluster of flames, preventing from rescuing his children. Still, George forged ahead, trying to find some way to get upstairs. He could hear, faintly, screams from outside. And then, suddenly, hands were pulling at him, tugging, dragging him out of the house. George roared, an animalistic, primal sound of rage and pain as he and George Jr. quite literally fell out of the house, stained with ash, coughing and gagging, feeling as if the very presence of the fire had rubbed their skin raw. Without hesitation, George stumbled away from the house, still determined.

He wouldn't remain determined for long. Neither of his trucks would start, and the ladder at the side of his house would have mysteriously vanished as he tried to use it to get upstairs. The fire department wouldn't come for hours, not until he and his wife and his remaining children watched their house tremble, collapse, and eat away at itself until it was nothing more than a blackened skeleton and a pile of ash. 

 

_December 25th, Christmas Day_

**9:42 at night**

 

It was quite an inferno. Even as they peeled away, even as the distance between the car and the Sodder house increased, even as enough time had passed that the Sodder children had stopped struggling, there was still a faint yellow spot in the distance that flickered on the occasion. Fear looked at it sometimes in his rearview, feeling a perverse pleasure at the sight. 

"Are we sure this is gonna work?" That was Goon #1, fidgeting nervously in the passenger seat. He was a relatively new member, he and his other companion both were, and they were less well versed in the machinations of their organization. Fear nodded, shoulders relaxed as he leaned back in his car seat. 

"You remember that list of names in the notebook?" Goon #1 nodded, albeit somewhat hesitantly. "That's a comprehensive list of all the fire department and police department officials on my payroll. Under my thumb, incapable of doing anything other than what I say for fear," here, an ironic, twisted smile, "that I retaliate in a series of rather unpleasant ways." Goon #2, still worried about his failure with the pineapple bomb, shuddered from his place in the backseat. Fear met his eyes in the rearview mirror; they were a black pit, cold and unending. It only lasted for a second, before he turned back to Goon #1, which in itself was very quick, before his eyes were back on the dark, winding road. The illumination of the Sodder fire was growing ever smaller behind them. 

"The Sodder home will be ash, and those kids will be gone." This time, his voice, while still quiet, was toneless. "And no one is going to do anything about it." 

* * *

 

_now..._

**3:16 in the afternoon**

 

That's what you think happened?" In the present day, Charles Cecil Tinsley was in a home office that did not belong to him, in an apartment that did not belong to him, the incriminating notebook, with the list of compromised officials and ingredients for setting houses on fire bared for all to see. At his side was Ricardo Goldsworth, in front of him were Ryan Bergara and Shane Madej **_(_** who had been taking excessive notes during his entire winding tale **_)_** , and also in the room were Louise Owen and D.B. Cooper. They all the same looks on their face, horror and relief mixed together in such a way that vastly different features now looked exactly alike. Horror, that this plan was so well detailed, so flawlessly executed. Relief, too, that they now knew more, that pieces of the puzzle were falling into place now, that they could create an actual picture. 

"That's what I _know_ happened." Tinsley was confident, based on what he'd learned over the entire investigation. "Fear sabotaged any means of help, payed off anyone who could put two and two together, and got the children out as means of revenge. Ricky, who was leaning very casually on the detective's shoulder heaved a sigh. 

"Well, on the bright side," he began, his voice morbidly amused. "We know practically everything now." Louise, leaning casually against the wall, shrugged one shoulder. 

"Practically," she repeated, as if a warning. "We've known the _who_ and the _when_ for a while now. We know the _why_ thanks to how often you pestered George Sodder. And now, thanks to Tinsley," she nodded to him, "we know the _what_. But we still don't know the most important one."

"The _where_." Cooper's voice was somber. For a moment, the room was silent. Shane and Ryan were still writing, checking over their notes. Tinsley had called them all to Louise's home, seeing as he couldn't very well go back to his, once he'd gotten the LCD files from his house and verified information to make sure his hypothesis lined up. He didn't have all the details, but he had enough, and he'd told them all he possibly could. Shane and Ryan, however, were here for an entirely different reason. One that would make their partnership, or whatever they called this occasional association, all the more worthwhile to both parties. 

Tinsley grabbed the notebook and, without hesitation, tossed it to Ryan. He caught it effortlessly, but when he looked up at the blue eyed detective, he was more than a little startled. Shane had the mirror expression of Ryan's surprise.

"What are you doing?" the tall reporter asked, tilting his head like a confused puppy. Tinsley gestured to the notebook, now in Ryan's hands, with its pages after pages filled with secrets and compromising information, facts and rumors alike that, if put in the public eye, could potentially set the entire town on fire. The thought warmed Tinsley's heart. 

"Remember how, in some of the times we've talked, I've told you that you shouldn't publish anything about this, shouldn't even talk about it?" The two reporters nodded, each with a unique, rueful expression. "Well, that's over. I'm lifting the gag order. I'm stepping back from stifling your creativity." Ryan's jaw dropped open, his eyes bugging out. 

"So you're saying..." He stopped himself, as if hardly daring to get the words out. In spite of himself, in spite of the seriousness of everything going on in his life right now, Tinsley smiled, bright and wide. 

"Publish this. Publish all of this. Everything I've told you, everything you've learned, all the facts we've all collected. Run it."  

They would end up doing just that. Very quickly, Shane Madej and Ryan Bergara would have an article written up, one that would ultimately take the front page headline rather than their usual _Unsolved_ column. And while they never named anyone, no detective nor witness nor kidnapper nor organization, they ran the story anyway, as accurately as they could. Within the week, Shane Madej and Ryan Bergara would publish an article on this unsolved mystery, the Sodder mystery, that was so explosive, so monumental, that it would blow a stream of warmth into a case long thought to be nothing but ice cold.


	32. A90132 or 35

Ryan banged on Tinsley's door **_(_** or, technically, ADA Louise Owen's door **_)_** with his fist. It was a a loud and jarring sound of skin smacking on wood, and even Shane, looming beside him, raised an eyebrow at Ryan's ferocity. He shouldn't. He knew why they were here, knew the importance of what they had to say. Everyone had been after them since the article they'd written for the paper, and most of what they'd received in person or via mail was nonsense and gibberish. Not this, however. This was big, huge, massively so. 

Evidently, Ryan's knocking had been loud enough and jarring enough to rouse someone inside Louise Owen's apartment, because the door was wrenched open. On the other side was Tinsley, blue eyes blazing, slightly rumpled, hatless and his straw blond hair a mess. He opened his mouth as if about to read the knocker the riot act, before looking down and realizing it was Ryan. 

"I was napping," the detective said. Behind Ryan, Shane coughed delicately. Clearly, he didn't believe that was all the private investigator was doing. Ryan, however, was firmly in the camp of _it's none of my fucking business_ , mostly because he was still preoccupied with the reason he came. Ryan heard steps behind him, and whirled around, wondering if some of those shady people Tinsley and all the others had been warning the two reporters about had finally come for him and Shane. He needn't fear; it was Louise Owen, accompanied by D.B. Cooper, both looking distinctly surprised to see Shane and Ryan's sudden appearance at Louise's door. The attorney moved up the stairs, arms crossed over her chest. 

"I'm guessing it's not a social call." Louise's long lashed eyes surveyed the two reporters, as if trying to ascertain the reason for the visit just by looking at them. Unfortunately, at least to Ryan's knowledge, she was not a mind reader. 

"We got something," Ryan said, holding up a folded square of paper in his fingers. 

"From the Sodder parents," Shane added. There was a sharp suck of breath from Cooper, which was probably all the others would need to know that this was hugely important. In the research Ryan had done on him, he was fairly sure the con man didn't get surprised by much, and certainly not with such ease. Immediately, Tinsley had hold of both Ryan and Shane's shirt collars, and was dragging them into the apartment, Louise and Cooper swiftly following before the door closed. In there was also Ricky Goldsworth, looking somewhat disheveled himself, and definitely very curious. Shane got himself free of the private detective's hold. "They came to our offices because they just got the strangest piece of mail they'll get in their entire lives, and that's a fact." Ryan handed Tinsley the paper, and he unfolded it, before startling himself so bad he almost dropped it. 

" _Jesus Christ!_ " 

"What?" Ricky moved forward, dark brows knitting together. Tinsley examined his new piece of evidence carefully. 

"That's a picture of Louis Sodder." Louise moved to Tinsley's side as well, peering at the photograph. Ryan knew what she was looking at. A young boy, roughly nine or ten years of age, with olive skin and dark, curling hair, not unlike Ricky's. And of course, the identifying mark that would make it clear it was Louis Sodder: the thick, upward tilting eyebrow. Combine that with the clear resemblance to both the missing Sodder child and his father, it was almost impossible to conclude that this was anything other than Louis. Yet there remained, of course, the million dollar question...

"How on Earth did this kid manage to send a picture of himself from..." Cooper hesitated for a moment, fidgeting with his hands. "Did they say where the picture came from?" 

"They said it came in an envelope with a Florentine postmark," Ryan recounted. This, too, was a stunning development. Could these missing children really be all the way in Italy? The south of Italy to boot? Normally, Ryan would have said no, absolutely no way, it was too far and definitely too risky to try and transport struggling cargo across an ocean and into a city with two different types of police officers. But, Italy was where George Sodder had lived. Italy was where he had been manipulated into joining Le Corone D'Oro; it was where he decided he had enough and hurried along his defection and abandonment. It was the site of his original sin, the one that had sicced Le Corone D'Oro on his trail, hell bent on revenge and determined to be the architects of his unhappiness, and kept them dead set on their goal of his ultimate emotional destruction. So maybe. _Maybe_. Which, of course, did nothing to explain how or why Louis Sodder managed to get this picture back to his family, but Ryan supposed that, if he had been kidnapped and dragged halfway across the world, he too would be trying his damnedest to send clues back to his loved ones. 

"There's writing on the back," Ricky said suddenly, and Ryan realized, with a start, that he was right, writing that neither he nor his friend had noticed. Tinsley flipped the paper over. 

" _Louis Sodder_ ," the detective read aloud. " _I love Brother Frankie. Lil boys. A90132 or 35_." They each looked at each other, all six of them, pictures of confusion. So this was Louis Sodder. But what was the message?

"OK." Ricky didn't seem pleased that there was another cryptic thing to decipher. Ryan could relate. 

"That's Dr. Fear's license plate number," Tinsley began. "At least, the one on the car he's likely not driving anymore." He and Ricky shared a secretive smile, remembering something, a private memory to which the others likely had no witness. "So maybe, he sees the license plate number the night he's abducted, and keeps it in his mind until he has the opportunity to send a message and tell us who his kidnapper is." 

"But what about the or 35 bit?" Shane gestured towards the photograph. "What the fresh Hell is that?" Tinsley shrugged. Louise's brow, meanwhile, was furrowed, the lawyer clearly in thought. 

"Well, the third letter of the alphabet is _C_ ," she said, slightly hesitant. "And the fifth letter of the alphabet is _E_." 

"But we don't know anyone relating to this investigation who has the initials _CE_ ," Cooper pointed out. At first, Louise looked as confused as she had been before, until Ryan saw an epiphany dawn, realization spreading across her face. 

"No, but the letter right after _C_ is _D_." This time, she sounded excited, not contemplative. "And the letter right after _E_ is _F_. Who do we know is involved with this madness who has the initials DF?" Ryan was just about to say it. "Dr. Fear!" She got to it before he could. "This ingenious kid made his own code to clue us in as much as he could about who took him and his siblings." There was a happy, sharp laugh from Tinsley. 

"Smart boy," he muttered, glancing back down at the words on the back of the picture. "Nobody who just casually saw this would have been able to figure out what he was trying to tell us." 

"I still haven't figured out what he's trying to tell us," Ricky admitted. "The Dr. Fear stuff, I get that, but what the Hell does the rest of it mean? Who is brother Frankie?" The dark haired man turned to Tinsley. "There's no Sodder relation named Frankie, is there?" Tinsley shook his head. 

"Frankie seems to be a very American name," Shane pointed out. "Maybe it's someone from here who was in charge of the kids before they got shipped off to Florence." There was a twist of incredulity in Shane's voice as he said the last word, as if he was still utterly disbelieving in the idea that the LCD was taking their kidnapping victims to a city in an entirely different country. Ryan would have felt the same, had they been talking about anyone else other than the LCD. 

"Francesco!" Cooper snapped his fingers, dark and deep set eyes fixed lighting up. "Francesco is an Italian name. And it's a Catholic country, since it's in Italy." He turned to Ricky, who nodded with a bemused expression. "Well, don't people call monks 'Brother' this and that?" Again, another nod, this time with a response. 

"I'm not entirely sure where you're going with this," Ricky said. "You think that Frankie is a nickname for Francesco, and that Fear put these kids in the care of a monk?" 

"At least for a little while," Cooper responded. "This is a smart kid, smart enough to make his own code and smuggle it out of the country back to us. I wouldn't put more instances of ingenuity and creativity past him." Cooper hesitated for a moment, gaze flicking across the faces in the room. "But I don't think this _Brother Frankie_ is gonna be taking care of the Sodder children for long. Because there is one thing we haven't considered." Louise tilted her head at him, but it was Tinsley who caught on first, running an agitated hand through his hair. 

"If we're finding this out, chances are the LCD is finding this out too." He looked at his five companions carefully. "And Fear isn't going to wait this out on the sidelines. He hates that we're getting so close, hates that we're going to be able to find them and get him finally punished for it." A pause, where Tinsley's expression grew unreadable. "And he hates me." Everyone in the room seemed to cringe in on themselves slightly at that, Ricky the most. They were a team now, the detective and the club owner, the con man and the attorney, the skeptic and the believer. And there was something terrifying in knowing that one of their own, their almost de facto leader, was the object of enmity from someone who was so heartless, so cruel as to ruin families, as to take the matters of life and death into his own hands time and time again, out of nothing but pure sadism and loyalty to an abominable organization. 

"He'll hate you more once we get him safely locked up away from us and get those children back to their parents," Ricky said decisively. "But I'm assuming you had a point to your mini speech there?" Tinsley gave him a smile, robin's egg blue eyes lighting up momentarily as he did. 

"I did." He leaned back against Louise's desk, hands braced behind him. "They're gonna find out that we know where these kids are, that we've got an official trail. And we need to get ahead of that." 

"Wait wait wait!" Ryan held his hand up, palm forward, eyes wide. "So what are you four going to try and do about it? The letter the Sodders got was postmarked in Florence." A pause, as the four others waited for the reporters to come the realization. Shane got there just a little bit before Ryan did, mouth popping open and eyes wide with disbelief and just the slightest hint of amusement. When Ryan got it, he made that exact same face. Because they were both figuring out the same thing. These four people were far too invested in this story to simply send a message to the Italian embassy and let them do the job, especially considering the reach and power of their opponents. No, they were going to finish this once and for all, finally put an end to this entire twisted saga. It was how they were going to do it, or at least where they were going to do it, that made Shane shout. 

" _You guys are going to fucking Florence, Italy?!_ "


	33. "What's The Fuckin' Holdup?"

Florence was a temperamental city, if one spoke of it only in terms of the weather. Not only was it raining, almost perpetually so **_(_** common, Ricky was told, given that it was winter **_)_** , but there was wind as well, fierce and determined and forceful and _very_ loud, howling the through air with the occasional scream. It was not a climate that anyone would like to spend time in. So there they were, the four of them, bundled against the weather, in a hotel just a little bit away from one of the various Piazzos. Ricky was at the front desk, elbows pressed against the granite with hands folded in on themselves in front of him, currently in the process of negotiating for a hotel room, hopefully two of the person in charge could swing it. 

It was proving more difficult than previously anticipated. 

"How can you expect to get a room here if you have no reservation?" Apparently, the concierge at the front desk really didn't like being accommodating whatsoever. Maybe that was why Ricky found his temper growing shorter. Either that or the thick Italian accent was proving to be particularly grating. Just a shade to his right was Tinsley, leaning against the wall with one foot against it, hands stuffed into the pockets of his ever present beige trenchcoat. It seemed as if he was fiddling with something in his pocket. Catching Ricky in the midst of his unabashed staring, the detective shot him a wry smile that twisted up the corners of his lips. It lifted Ricky's mood, though only ever so slightly. 

Beside an ornate pay phone, deep in conversation with whoever was on the other line and looking pensive, was Louise, phone cord twisted around her slender index finger. Cooper was standing a ways off to the side, watching everyone come and go with a wary, observant gaze. Nothing was passing under his eye unnoticed. Ricky turned back to the concierge, gritting his teeth and flashing what he hoped was a polite smile. 

"I understand that we didn't make a reservation," he said through tight lips. "But this was a very unplanned trip. And you said yourself two minutes ago that there were rooms that were presently unoccupied." The concierge, however, was once again not cooperating, and did not follow Ricky in the changing of the tune. 

"We have a standard at this hotel, _signor_ ," he said, making no similar effort to try and be polite. His voice was openly contemptible. "We cannot bend our rules to please just one party." 

"I'm not asking you to bend the rules." Ricky felt his attempt of kindness begin to slip away, and fought to hold onto it. "I'm not asking you to admit us for free, or kick out a paying customer to make room for us. I'm asking if we can stay, according to charge, in one of the rooms that are not currently occupied." The concierge shook his head. Ricky wondered if he somehow got off on being absolutely insufferable. 

"That's out of the question." 

"That's bullshit." Ricky didn't shout, but he felt like it. Flights to Europe were long, and when the fatigue was compounded with the sheer amount of stress involved with tracking down five children held in a foreign country by a madman and his organization, it made him irritable. And when that was compounded with someone feeling the need to be unnecessarily insufferable, it made him all the more irritable. 

But apparently, the insufferable concierge took umbrage with Ricky's profanity, especially if directed at him, even if it had been hissed rather than yelled. The man's face closed off, and when he peered at Ricky again, it was with a much more suspicious air than previously. Ricky stared right back. He no longer made an attempt at a polite smile. 

"What did you say your name was again?" 

"Ricardo 'Ricky' Goldsworth." The concierge made a face as if Ricky's name was somehow distasteful. 

"It sounds like a false name." He wasn't wrong there. It did sound like a ridiculously false name, for a wide variety of reasons, mostly because he had never met anyway with so elaborate a name as Goldsworth. But it wasn't a fake name; it was very much a real one. "Where did you grow up Ricky Goldsworth? What city?"

"New York City." So stunned by the sudden line of questioning, Ricky lied. Not necessarily because he had any issue with the city where he'd grown up, but simply because he wasn't entirely sure he wanted this bizarre concierge to know where he'd grown up. 

"What is your mother's name?" 

"Lucy Goldsworth." The concierge raised an eyebrow. 

"What's her maiden name?" 

"Her maiden name is none of your business." Irritated now, Ricky leaned forward over the granite countertop, sticking his face closer to the concierge. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tinsley straighten his back, likely debating whether or not he should intervene. "And, if I might ask?" He did not wait for a response. "What's the fuckin' holdup? I'm trying to check into a room, a simple room, so that I don't have to sleep on the streets in a rainy and windy city. And you're giving me a goddamn inquisition?" The concierge shrank back slightly, stunned by the force in Ricky's voice. "Is this how you treat all your customers? Who do you think you are?" Ricky thumped him in the chest with his finger, several times. The concierge stumbled just the slightest bit, given that he was already leaning so far away. "Huh, huh buster!" 

Over at his side, Ricky heard a strangled cough from Tinsley, who was clearly trying very hard not to laugh. 

"All-all right." The concierge looked vaguely alarmed. "You win! You win, Ricky." He drew back, straightening his shoulders, satisfied. "You get your room for you and your friends." 

"And I want the top room." This time, Ricky phrased it as a command, not a request. The concierge nodded meekly, and Ricky turned away. Tinsley was beet red, his shoulders shaking with a hand clapped to his mouth. He managed to calm down slightly as they drew near each other. Ricky grinned. "Too much?" Tinsley shook his head, taking a deep breath and patting Ricky's cheek with a long fingered hand. 

"Not at all," he gasped, smiling broadly as he lowered his hand. "God, never change Ricky." Ricky nodded his assent, running a hand through his dark curls. There was something infectious about Tinsley's humor, and even though his mood was still somewhat wretched, Ricky found himself smiling alongside the other man, an arm snaking around his waist. 

"Your room keys, _signor_!" the concierge called. Ricky retrieved them and turned on his heel swiftly, only giving a curt nod to the other man as he left. Tinsley shook his head ruefully as they went to join Louise and Cooper, the former still talking animatedly on the phone.

"And they don't know?" A pause, and a wry twist of Louise's lips. "So, tomorrow then." Another pause. "OK." Louise looked for a moment as if she was about to hang up, and then took a deep breath, sucking in a lungful of air. "Thank you." With that as her sole goodbye, she hung up the phone, almost slamming it back down on the receiver. The men let her have a moment, as she scrubbed a hand over her face and took another breath. "That was Don." Tinsley's eyebrows hit the brim of his hat. 

"You guys are talking?" Perhaps it was just Ricky, but if his brother had gotten him embroiled in a scheme led by a group of sociopaths against his will, he wouldn't have been too keen to reinitiate contact. 

"Sort of." She didn't elaborate on that. "There's an LCD presence in Florence, which is to be expected, but we've got a silver lining. They're having a thing tomorrow." They all perked up at that. "There's an abby led by a monk they call Fratello Francesco," _Brother Frankie_ , Ricky's mind translated, "that's lead a restoration project on the upper levels of the Palazzo Vecchio." Ricky knew a little bit about the Palazzo. It was one of the oldest buildings in Florence, the seat of power for a long time, and people had a tendency to use it as an event venue. Louise quickly confirmed that. "There's going to be a fundraiser in the abby's name tomorrow night, which they're using as a pretext so members of the LCD can congregate and talk." 

"About what?" Cooper asked, dark brows furrowing. Louise shrugged. 

"How to become the most dickish secret society of all time, probably," she quipped, pushing a strand of hair out of her eyes. "But Don said he's gotten me and a plus one access." Ricky opened his mouth to ask about that before she cut him off. "Don't ask me how, because I don't know and I don't want to know. But tomorrow, you and I," she pointed to Cooper, "Will be going, and we'll be sneaking Tinsley in so that he can do reconnaissance." 

"Of the Palazzo Vecchio?" Tinsley sounded more than a little skeptical. 

"Again, the upper levels are under restoration," she repeated. "No one goes up there without authorization. There's no better place to keep prisoners within the city." Tinsley nodded, clearly unable to dispute that logic. And it was a logical argument, after all, which was to be expected from a lawyer. But that wasn't Ricky's main concern. 

"What am I supposed to do in the meantime?" he demanded, glaring at the rest of them. "Sit on my ass while the three of you charge headlong into the lion's den?" He whirled on Tinsley. "Not do anything while you sneak into a meeting held by an organization that, from what we know, literally wants you dead? No way!" 

"Louise said she could only bring one guest," Cooper pointed out, placing a hand on Ricky's shoulder. He shrugged it off. "How exactly do you want to get in? Sneak in too? That'll be noticeable, and you'll both get caught, and then we'll all be screwed." 

"I am not letting you leave me behind." Ricky hoped that his tone made it clear this wasn't up for negotiation. They all stared at each other for a few minutes, Ricky's mind working furiously to try and come up with a solution. Suddenly, and very unexpectedly, he found it. "Bodyguard!" Louise tilted her head at him curiously. "I join your party of two and make it a party of three by saying I'm your bodyguard. No one's going to pay attention to me, so the bonus is I'll be able to hear things they might not say in front of you." Tinsley's blue eyes were wide, but he said nothing as Cooper and Louise glanced at each other before nodding their assent. But they did seem to notice that Tinsley still wanted to speak, most likely in private. 

"We'll be back," Louise said decisively, grabbing Cooper by the elbow and pulling the both of them towards the door. Ricky tossed her one of the two room keys, which she caught deftly in her friend. Tinsley was still looking at him with his pale, robin's egg blue, unreadable expression, so unabashedly C.C. Tinsley that he should have it patented. 

The elevator ride up to the room **_(_** which was, in fact, very nice, thank you unhelpful concierge **_)_** was mostly silent. But the instant the door closed, the words he'd clearly been holding back exploded past Ricky's lips, astonishingly loud to Ricky even though they were technically at normal volume, considering the quiet. 

"I don't like you being there tomorrow." He said it simply, a statement of fact. Ricky didn't find himself offended by this. It was, after all, to be understood. If the positions were reversed, he would have wanted Tinsley as far as possible, tucked away as safely as he could be. "I wish you weren't going." 

"I'm going," Ricky answered. flicking the light switch on. Tinsley took off his hat and shrugged off his trench coat, placing both gingerly on the bed. "I have to." That, too, had a factual ring to it. Tinsley nodded, seemingly resigned, and took a step forward. 

"I know you have to, and I understand why. I just don't like it." 

"Do you?" Ricky's response was unexpected to both him and Tinsley, who raised an eyebrow. "Do you understand? Why I can't just sit by and do nothing while you throw yourself so fearlessly into danger?" Ricky groped for words, spreading his hands helplessly. "Tinsley, I..." He very nearly growled in frustration. He was no orator; he was not eloquent. He had no need to be, and he oftentimes didn't feel the inclination to make grand speeches. It was coming back to bite him now, as he struggled for the right thing to say. He, of course, knew what the right thing to say was, but he had never said them to a significant other before, and a part of him, a cowardly part, was terrified. 

"Stop." Tinsley's right hand came to touch his face, fingers stroking his cheekbone. They looked at each other.  "You don't have to say it. I know." Ricky breathed a sigh of relief, feeling his shoulders relax. 

"You know?" Tinsley chuckled slightly, his eyes soft. Lake water, not Arctic ice.

"Believe me, I know." There was an understanding in that, a hidden meaning to those words. It was as close to _I love you, I love you too_ , as they were going to get, at least until this was all over and everyone was safe and sound. Ricky tilted his head up and kissed the detective, fingers threading through his feathered hair. Both of Tinsley's hands were framing his face now, his response eager, before his fingers snaked down to begin undoing the buttons of the other man's shirt. Ricky's movements mirrored his.

All the while, he tried not to dwell too much on the fact that these kisses tasted far too much like the word _goodbye_. 


	34. Vecchio e Signoria

Apparently, back in the day, the Palazzo Vecchio had been dubbed the Palazzo Signoria. Louise wasn't sure whether the change from Lady Palace to Old Palace suited it or not, but that may have been because she was, tonight, a bundle of nerves. She rarely, if ever, partook in anything that could remotely be considered illegal; she would leave that to Don and his LCD infused machinations. And while coming to the Palazzo Vecchio under false pretenses, as well as using her presence as a cover for someone to break in and go to areas with restricted access, wasn't technically illegal, it felt so. 

"Breathe," Cooper hissed in her ear as her fingers tightened around his arm. Louise rolled her eyes. 

"I am breathing," she told him. "I'm just doing it nervously." Cooper huffed a small laugh, though she did notice his pulse jumping in his throat. They were anxious; they were all out of their minds with it, even if none of them was totally willing to admit it. 

It was a beautiful place. Cold, certainly, as Florence was apparently wont to be apparently, but still gorgeous. Other than the Duomo, which Ricky had visited for Mass earlier this morning, the Palazzo Vecchio had to be the most recognizable landmark of Florence, with its brilliantly lit stone tower jutting out over the city's low skyline. Tonight it was alive, bustling with activity, with tourists taking pictures in the Piazza below and marveling at the architecture, side by side with the upper echelons of Florentine/LCD society entering the stone halls and preparing for whatever insidious purpose was behind this supposed 'fundraiser.' 

Louise didn't buy that the restoration had anything benign to it. Glancing up as she entered, she could see the scaffolding on the upper levels, empty and silent for the night, probably hiding as many secrets as the people who were paying for it. 

"Tinsley's in." That was Ricky, on her other side, so quiet it barely registered in Louise's ear. She turned her head ever so slightly, and only just spotted the beige coattails whip around a stone pillar before disappearing. Louise breathed a small sigh of relief. At least that was well taken care of; now it was up to Tinsley to make sure that he didn't get caught. As for the three of them, they made their way up stone stairs along with the rest of the guests, before finally coming to a grand room, ornamental and lavish, gold detailing along the walls and paintings on the ceiling. In spite of herself, Louise felt the beginning pricks of awe. 

They all looked at each other, before Ricky peeled off, almost melting into the crowd. It was his idea, earlier in the day, to branch away from Cooper and Louise once they managed to worm their way in. His rationale, a logical one, was that as long as he was dressed as someone who should only speak when spoken to, no one would pay him any mind. It would make it easier for him to eavesdrop on potentially helpful conversations. Which left only Cooper and Louise to try make pleasant small talk with the people congregating around them. 

"If we're made, I punch and you run," Cooper whispered. Louise smiled and ducked her head, a laugh just on the tip of her tongue. She raised an eyebrow at the former con man, disentangling herself from his arm. 

"I think you forget that out of the two of us, I'm the only one who's ever actually physically assaulted one of these people," she pointed out. Cooper chuckled dryly, grabbing two glasses of champagne. Louise plucked one out of his hands, though she didn't begin drinking it quite. In the back of her mind, she was reliving that moment, when she'd decided that intimidation wasn't worth sacrificing her moral compass. A lot had surprised her in those minutes, most notably that she had remembered to keep her thumb outside of her clenched fist, and avoided a broken knuckle to go along with her concussion. 

"Ma'am?" Louise barely managed not to jump, so startled was she by the sudden voice at her elbow. It belonged to a small man in a suit, copious amounts of hair gel smeared on his head. "Your name, please?" 

"Louise Owen," she said, forcing a gracious smile on her lips. It was the same one she used whenever someone in the courthouse wasn't doing something the way she wanted them to, one that made her seem warm and open and approachable, even if she was two seconds away from wanting to rip her hair out due to irritation or frustration. "This is my plus one, D.B. Cooper." Cooper nodded curtly. The small man made a bizarre twitch, like a bow that had been abruptly stopped halfway through, and left. 

"Owen?" This came from a woman in a glittering, beaded dress, obviously colored caramel hair piled high atop her head. Her face was heavily made up, lips a dark-wine colored red. She looked at Louise with interest. "As in Don Owen?" She extended a hand, which Louise shook swiftly and firmly. 

"His sister," she said, putting on her courtroom façade. Polite but reserved, almost like a marble mask. Cooper had a similar expression on his face. "Don couldn't make it, so he asked me to come in his stead. He sends warm regards, and hopes you'll all be able to make do with me in the mean time." The woman tittered, sounding like a small morning bird as she did so. 

"And why have _you_ come?" she asked Cooper. He hooded his eyes slightly, raising one corner of his lip just the tiniest amount. It was an oddly seductive look, one Louise remembered from their earlier meetings when he was trying to both woo her into complacency and gain the upper hand with predatory charm. It hadn't worked, but she would be lying if she said she hadn't found it attractive. Apparently, their conversation partner was having the same thought, a flushed path appearing at the base of her neck. 

"For the entertainment." Cooper's tone was low and joking, head dipped down as if revealing a secret. The woman laughed again, and Cooper along with her, showing teeth. There was something hard in his chuckle, angry. Instinctively, Louise put her hand between his shoulder blades, fingers pressing down slightly in what she hoped was a reassuring touch. Cooper straightened, made his smile warmer, softer, less hedonistic. The other woman didn't seem to notice the change

"Well, I hope you two enjoy this _fundraiser_." She waggled her eyebrows slightly as she said it, letting them know that she was in on the joke, hoping they were in on it too. Louise flashed another quick smile before turning away, her hand still on Cooper's back. 

"You OK?" she asked quietly, leaning towards him. He made a wry sound in the back of his throat. 

"I hate them." There was an astonishing amount of vehemence in his voice. "I hate how they're acting as if this some fun game, as if they don't ruin lives." Louise thinned her lips. 

"That's fair." She dropped her hand, and this time she did take a long sip from her champagne glass. "But we've got roles to play here, Cooper."

"Roles it seems everyone else is playing along with." Cooper looked around briefly, slowly, as if he was admiring the architecture and not scanning for faces that popped up out of the crowd. "Which seems strange. Shouldn't they know that you're no longer on board with the plan?" This time, it was Louise's turn to scoff. 

"I don't think _he_ made them aware of that particular failure," she said tightly. "It would look bad for him. And it must be humiliating. You have this great idea to keep this top law enforcement official from doing anything you don't want her to do, and then it all blows back spectacularly in your face and gives you nothing but another enemy to keep track of? I don't think he wants to tell that story to his Florentine counterparts." Her mouth twisted. "So he's keeping it private, tightly under wraps, to make sure it doesn't go public and cause him any issue." Louise knocked back the rest of her champagne. When she looked back at Cooper, his eyes were dark in more than just color. 

"I hate them for that too." 

"You're not the only one." Louise sighed, setting the glass on a table, where it was almost immediately whisked away by a prompt server. "God, that entire sad story just..." She groped for the right words to explain her feelings. "It made me feel weak. Used, almost, like I was good for one thing, and that thing was keeping these people's awful secrets. Not to mention it constantly felt like I had someone's hand around my throat and they were seconds away from throttling me." This time, it was Cooper's turn to lay a gentle touch on her, this time his fingers wrapping loosely around her wrist. 

"I wish I could have helped." He didn't say it the way others would have said it, that white knight, savior of women kind of way, the man who resents his inability to swoop in and rescue the damsel in distress. He was genuine about it, and in spite of the current black mood, Louise smiled slightly. 

"I didn't know if I could trust you," she admitted. Cooper's mouth opened, and she continued. "But I do now, and if they were still trying to do that...I would tell you. I think you actually could have helped." For a moment, there was quiet. It seemed as if Cooper was about to say something else, before a third figure slid himself seamlessly into their conversation.

"Don Owen's sister?" Again, Louise smiled politely with a nod, but there was no shaking of hands. This new intruder was rounder than their last, more natural, and much more male. He had an almost perfectly round bald patch on his head, rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes. His attire was much more drab than everyone else here, even drabber than Tinsley, who was in his usual ensemble as he skulked around somewhere else in the Palazzo. "Brother Francesco." He put a hand to his heart and made a little bow. Louise's heart thudded unevenly in her chest, and Cooper's hand, still around her wrist, tightened. 

"Louise." Her voice didn't shake, an impressive feat. She gestured to her companion. "Cooper." He nodded a jerky greeting. "What can I do for you?" Did one call monks _brother_? Or maybe  _sir_? It felt weird to call him brother; she already had one of those. 

"I just came to greet you, make some chitchat." He had an Italian accent, not thick but not faint as well, present but not overpowering. It gave a smooth quality to his voice. "I wanted to know what about this restoration, among other things, made you so passionate as to cross the Atlantic." He eyed her expectantly. 

"The preservation of history is something a philanthropic pursuit of mine." She pulled that one out of her ass, but it was the best answer she could come up with. Francesco continued to look at her, and she slid her hand so that Cooper was holding it instead of her wrist, clinging to his fingers tightly. 

"I feel the same way." She breathed a slight sigh of relief. "At my heart, I am a philanthropist as much as I am a man of God." Louise tried not to focus on the irony that someone engaged in as sordid a life as that of an LCD member could consider himself a man of God. "I know what people might say about us, should they know who we are." He leaned forward conspiratorially as he said that, and Louise fought the urge to lean away. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cooper's face, stony and unmoved. She squeezed his hand slightly. "But I believe this, what we are doing now, with this Palazzo, is representative of our bigger purpose, our common pursuit. I seek to rebuild the world, to make it more beautiful, more amazing, just as we are doing now with the Palazzo Vecchio." There was a dreamy, far off look in his eye. "That is our goal, I believe. That is what we are meant to do, those of us here tonight. To make our Earth more pristine and perfect than it has ever been. We shall rebuild the world. We must."

"Quite right," Cooper said, masking what must be his true feelings of revulsion expertly. Louise nodded her agreement. 

"Of course," she added, the words out before she could stop them. "Sometimes, to rebuild something and make it better, it's necessary to destroy it." Francesco's brow wrinkled slightly, before smoothing out. He smiled widely. 

"You _are_ a smart woman." Louise ducked her head with mock humility. "Enjoy the festivities. And may I say? You look ravishing." And with that, he was gone, lost in the crowds of people again. Louise's shoulders slumped slightly, and she disentangled her fingers from Cooper's. 

"That was close." Cooper nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "What about that was amusing?" 

"Not that," he said, running a hand through his dark hair. "It's just funny to think that even a man of the cloth, who's supposed to be beyond such things, knows that you're the most beautiful woman in the room." 

"And I thought we'd nipped the flirting in the bud." In spite of that, Louise felt herself blush and smile, hands smoothing down the skirt of her red currant colored dress. Like his earlier statement, she wouldn't have liked what he'd said if it had come from anybody else. But Cooper didn't sound sleazy, or predatory, or otherwise desirous of anything. He just said it like a fact, just a fact that he enjoyed pointing out immensely. "But you do look good in a suit." Cooper smiled, and held out his hand. The musicians in the corner had just started up a new tune. 

"Dance with me?" Louise put her hand in his, and they moved to the dance floor to join a few others. Cooper tugged her against him, his hand on her waist and hers on his shoulder. 

"I thought we were supposed to be inconspicuous tonight," Louise pointed out. "Given that we're doing secret reconnaissance." Cooper shook his head as they moved in time to the music. 

"Ricky and Tinsley need to be inconspicuous," he corrected. "You're here under a perfectly valid invitation, and I'm your perfectly valid guest. So..." With a smile, he spun her around, and Louise twirled, skirt flaring out, before she was pulled back flush against Cooper. "We can be as conspicuous as we want." This time, when Louise laughed, it was a genuine sound, one of the few she'd made all night. The song continued, and for a moment they were silent, focusing on the steps and the music. It was only when Cooper chuckled that they started the conversation back up again. 

"What?" 

"I was just thinking." In time to the beat, he put both her hands just below her ribcage and lifted her around, both of Louise's hands locked around his neck. They continued effortlessly. "They're hypocrites too. All that bullshit Brother Francesco said wanting to make the world perfect? How are they gonna do that by being all powerful thugs?" 

"They won't," Louise answered simply. "They're not gonna make the word more beautiful. But we will." Cooper's arm snaked around her waist and he balanced her weight as he spun. Louise's lips were inches from his ear. "When we burn them all to the ground." Cooper made a gleeful sound as he set her down, and they continued the steps, a waltz with a contemporary twist to accompany the music. 

"This is all insane," he said, voice low and barely registered over the instruments and the singing. "You know that, right?" Louise nodded without hesitation. 

"Oh, I definitely know that," she answered. "But what are we gonna do about it?" For once, Cooper didn't have a slick answer, and so they finished the song in silence, comfortable and easy. Cooper twirled her one last time just as the notes hit a crescendo, and then dipped her low to the ground as soon as she spun back to him, the last strains of music disappearing into the air. Their fingers were locked together, his other hand on her lower back, supporting her, her free palm pressed against his throat, fingers cupping his jawline. They stared for a moment, dark eyes on dark eyes, so close their foreheads almost touched. It felt as neither of them were breathing. 

And then, just like that, the moment was over, Cooper righting her back on her feet and stepping away as they both applauded the musicians, along with the rest of the guests. Louise shook herself out of whatever daze that was, and tossed her hair back. Almost immediately, she spotted Ricky, leaning against the wall. He met her eyes and jerked his head, silently beckoning her hair. She nudged Cooper, and they both joined him at the edge of the event. 

"So what're the masses saying?" Cooper asked. Ricky's brow seemed to have remained furrowed from the time he left until now. 

"They're actually not saying a lot," he admitted, sounding surprised. "They talk, but there's not a lot going on about Fear or the Sodder kids. I think he's been downplaying how bad everything's been going. He's trying to make it seem like he's totally in charge, that he's got everything under control when he doesn't." 

"Not at all. But that makes sense," Louise muttered. "Nobody's given me any weird looks here. I don't think Fear's been telling them about the things that have gone wrong for him recently. Which is almost everything," she added smugly.

"What about Tinsley?" Cooper's voice lowered. "Are they saying anything about him?" Ricky's lips thinned. 

"Not as much as you'd think, given what Fear's apparently hiding." He sounded bitter. "But they know he's becoming an issue, they just don't know how much. And they know that Fear loathes him with a burning passion." Louise winced slightly. 

"So what're they planning to do about it?" she asked. 

"I heard the words 'surgically obliterated' used." Cooper made a hissing noise between his teeth. It sounded the way Louise felt. "Before things get too serious. Joke's on them about that." Ricky laughed humorously. Up in the center of the room, on a stage, Francesco appeared, clearly about to make a speech. Louise let her eyes wander for a minute, where they landed on a familiar face. Tinsley, in his customary attire, holding, for some bizarre reason, a raggedy looking stuffed bear. He was immediately obscured by another well known character: Fear, in a tuxedo, with a nasty cut above his eye that still looked to be in the early stages of healing. 

"We have to go." Cooper and Ricky both looked in the same direction as she, and noticed the danger. If Fear saw any of them here, let alone Tinsley, so close, there was no telling what he might do. Ricky caught Tinsley's eye, and jerked it towards the stairs. Tinsley nodded, seeming to understand: it's time to leave. The three of them quickly made their way down the stairs just as Francesco began talking. They spilled out onto the dark, cold cobblestones, almost immediately followed by Tinsley. 

"Why are you holding a teddy bear?" Ricky asked without preamble. 

"Because this is Betty Sodder's teddy bear." Tinsley shook it slightly. Louise shivered, either from the chill or the implications. Cooper shrugged of his suit jacket and draped it around her shoulders. She smiled at him briefly. "It was outside one of the corridors under construction, and get this? It was blocked off, with a guard and everything. I'd bet my coat that those kids are being hidden there."

"So you're one hundred percent certain?" Tinsley shot Ricky a sarcastic smile at those words. "OK, next thing: what do we do now?" 

"We can't get them tonight," Tinsley said immediately. "It's too risky. There's too many people, and way too many variables. It would be suicide for everyone, us and the kids." 

"So when?" Cooper asked. 

"Tomorrow." It sounded as if Tinsley had already thought of this. "We sneak back in tomorrow, when no one's there for a party and the construction crew has gone home for the night, awe get the Sodder children out of here and back home." It seemed as good a plan as any. 


	35. Proof of Life

In contrast to last night's gaiety, with the lights and the glitter and the festivities, the Palazzo Vecchio was eerie. Tonight it was dark and quiet, with a cool draft that occasionally wafted through the stone walls and across the four trespassers as they crept up the stairs, slowly and silently, to finish what had been started so long ago. After that fateful Christmas fire, they would find the Sodder children and return them to their family, and hopefully manage to eradicate the LCD in the process. That was the dream. 

They had gotten into the Palazzo relatively quickly, thanks to Tinsley's ever present and seemingly endless supply of bobby pins and his knack for lock picking. And even though the place was deserted, they were still quiet, letting the detective lead the way as they all trotted dutifully behind him. Cooper looked around, at the scaffolding and the almost overabundance of wooden beams meant to keep things in place, paint and varnish settling in cans and soaking worker rags. It reminded him of a sketch that was meant to become a painting. Incomplete.

"This seems like a bad idea." The first person to talk in more than a few minutes, Cooper's voice seemed impossibly loud amidst all the quiet, even if it was only at a whisper. Ricky turned to look at him, brows furrowed. 

"Saving the Sodder children seems like a bad idea?" Cooper resisted the urge to swat him. 

"Not that. Having this much wood used on an as of now unfinished project." He gestured around them, and the other three looked around. "It just seems like an accident waiting to happen." Tinsley made a humming noise, but didn't turn around to face any of them. They continued walking up the stairs, largely in silence again until the smell hit them. 

"Oh God." Louise held a delicate hand up to her nose, face wrinkled in distaste. "What the Hell is that? It smells like straight gasoline." Cooper shuddered, as if trying to get it off his clothes. 

"I have no clue," Tinsley said, veering sharply to the left. They followed him. "Although it reminds me more of shoe polish than gasoline." Cooper caught Louise making a face at him before schooling herself back into a neutral expression. The staircase still kept on going up, but they all filed into a corridor, ostensibly the same one that Tinsley had been blocked from exploring, the one near which he'd found Betty Sodder's discarded teddy bear. 

It was completely deserted. It was dark, not exactly pitch black but very close, and the corridor was absolutely empty. No guard, no teddy bear, nothing except for a single door, wooden and locked tightly. It was that door towards which they made their way, the bizarre and pungent smell still in their nostrils. For a moment, one shining moment, it looked like this was it. They would open the door, find the five children behind it, and get them out of here and back to the city, back to their parents' loving arms, in no time at all, with barely any resistance. It seemed almost too good to be true. 

It would be too good to be true, for a number of reasons. 

The first reason was that the door was, quite sensibly, locked. Tinsley jiggled the doorknob, then he tugged at it. Then he tugged a little harder, one foot braced against the wall. Still, no give. 

"Do you want me to try and break it down?" Cooper asked hesitantly. Tinsley shook his head, canting his head, staring at the door quizzically. 

"I wanna leave as little evidence of what we're about to do behind as possible," he explained. "Busting down the door really wouldn't help that." Tentative at first, Tinsley rapped his knuckles on the door. Then, harder. Then, the slap of his palm against the door, loud. "Betty?" After so much murmuring and whispers, Tinsley's shout made them all jump. "Louis? Are any of you in there? Can you give me a sign you're there?" 

"Where else would they be if not in there?" Ricky asked. Tinsley banged his fist against the door. 

"Then why aren't they answering me?" 

"They're gagged." Cooper was not a man who startled easily, or even at all. He was used to precarious situations, to being snuck up on, to facing up against some truly terrifying people. But still, he made a loud, strangled sound at the new participant in the conversation, and whirled around with the others to face this newcomer. At the end of the corridor, feet planted shoulder width apart, a long and still healing red cut above eyes that, while hooded and seemingly nonchalant, sparked with something dangerously close to madness, soft spoken and deadly. 

**Dr. Fear.**

"Good job gang." He clapped once, a startling sound. "And I must say, it's lovely to see you all again. Ricardo, glad to see your leg has healed. Tinsley," for a moment, his voice dipped to a growl, "still in that ridiculous get up. Louise, pretty as a picture." 

"Go to hell," Louise hissed. Fear smirked ever so slightly. Cooper's stomach roiled. He had that effect on people. 

"I'll take you with me if I do." Cooper could see Tinsley in his peripheral vision, and his back was stiff as a board. "Of course, you do make me wonder...Where exactly did I go wrong in all of this? It's the same playbook I've used for use, without fail..." His voice, still quiet, took on a contemplative quality, like a lecturer posing a series of secretly rhetorical questions to his students. "It should have worked. It worked before. I did everything right, and somehow..." He chuckled dryly, without humor. "Somehow, you seemed to consistently get the drop on me. Even totaled my car." Fear's pitiless, merciless dark gaze focused on Tinsley. "How?" Everything about him dripped contempt. Tinsley took a step forward, even though Ricky made a small sound of protest. 

"You wanna know why you lost?" The detective's voice was strong. "Because you're you." Every syllable was drenched in disgust, and Fear's eyes narrowed. 

"Something like that," he hissed. "I'm chalking it up to an overestimation of my abilities, however great they are, and an underestimation of yours, however piddly they may be." Tinsley tilted his head. "I got too cocky. Too sure of myself."

"You better make sure not to make that same mistake next time," Tinsley said nonchalantly. Fear dipped a hand into his coat pocket. Tinsley's fingers twitched, as if preparing to reach for something. Cooper hardly dared to breathe. 

"I don't plan to." He seemed to be addressing all of them, but had eyes only for Tinsley. Tinsley, who had thwarted him, Tinsley, who had injured him, Tinsley, who had humiliated him, Tinsley, who was beating him. "Seeing as none of you are going to make it through the night alive. There isn't going to be a next time." Fear withdrew his hand, which now held a box of matches. The light in his eyes shone brighter, with what Cooper could only describe as insanity. "And I'm not just talking about you boys and lady." He jerked his chin towards the locked door. "The kiddies too. They're too much of a hassle now, too cumbersome. They're too noticeable with the scrutiny and the media. It's time to deal with them the way I dealt with their house." 

"And how are you planning on doing that?" Ricky demanded. Fear waved his box of matches. 

"I know you're smelling something very strong right now," he explained. "But it's not paint or shoe polish or gasoline. It's wood varnish. A very particular kind of wood varnish that's currently on the majority of the scaffolding surface. You see, this stuff is highly flammable. If not put away properly, it even has the potential to spontaneously combust." Fear smiled, all teeth, knifelike. "I light these, I drop them, the place burns faster than a wicker basket." 

"You don't have to do this!" That was Louise, startlingly loud, almost desperate. Scared. Just like they all were, even if they wouldn't admit. Fear looked at her curiously, and for an insane moment, Cooper wondered if she'd broken through to him. 

"I know," he said, as if it were obvious. "I just want to." He withdrew multiple matches, prepared to strike them against the box. Ricky and Cooper moved forward almost simultaneously, prepared for a physical assault. Tinsley held a hand up, not even looking at them. But the message was clear: _don't interfere_. This was between the doctor and the detective, and them only. This was their final showdown.

"You won't win," Tinsley told him. 

"And why won't I?"

"Because, throughout history, there have always been battles between good and evil. Light and dark, on every side of every war even fought." Tinsley's voice was loud and clear, his shoulders straight. His pale blue eyes shone. "Time and time again, good wins. Not evil. Good. And we? We are good. You are evil. And you'll lose. And the LCD will lose. _Evil.will.lose._ " His conviction reverberated through Cooper, shot sparks of electricity through his nerve system, into his bloodstream. 

"You're right," Fear admitted. "You're good. I'm not." His expression didn't change at all. "But that doesn't matter now, does it?" In one fluid motion, his hand flashed, striking his many matches against the box. Within the same few seconds he dropped them on the floor. Flames sprang up immediately, large and hot, destructive. Without hesitation, Tinsley launched himself at Fear, and knocked them both to the ground. 

"Move!" Cooper shoved Louise and Ricky out of the way, his mind set. Fear had just set fire to the Palazzo Vecchio, one of Florence's oldest and most memorable monuments. The time for subtlety had passed. With one strong kick, Cooper broke down the door. Inside, indeed gagged and staring at him with wide and terrified eyes, were the five missing Sodder children. "They're here!" he shouted. The three of them ran into the room. The children's hands were bound, but their feet were not. Their mouths were covered by cloth gags. Cooper and Ricky swiftly began undoing knots, Louise untying the gags from their mouths. In his peripheral vision, Cooper could see the flicker of the flames, hear their roar. He could also hear the sound of blows landing, Tinsley and Fear engaged in their brawl. 

"Let's go!" The children freed, Louise began ushering them out the door and towards the staircase, the boys behind. The flames were already spreading, the smoke thick and acrid. They rushed down the stairs, towards the door, nobody doing anything except focusing on moving forward. And then, they heard it. 

A single gunshot. 

Ricky abandoned them immediately, rushing up the stairs towards his lover and his arch nemesis. Louise was next, running after him, no doubt determined to stop him from doing anything stupid. Cooper grabbed the eldest child. Maurice, he believed he was called. 

"Keep on running down and don't stop until you're outside. Do not wait for us, just keep going and get you and your siblings out safely." Only when Maurice nodded did Cooper leave, taking two steps at a time to follow his companions. He caught up with them just as they reached Tinsley and Fear. Both men were grappling with a gun, the gun Tinsley had found in Fear's secret townhouse. That had to be the one that had gone off, though neither was sporting any bullet wounds. The flames were thicker now, everywhere, the scene lit with red and orange hues, sparks flying, smoke gathering. What happened next took only a matter of seconds. 

Fear got the gun and wrenched himself free from Tinsley. But rather than shoot, he fled, up the stairs that were beginning to be engulfed by the fire. Tinsley stood, and turned back to the three of them. His straw hair was matted with blood, his eyes the only cool looking thing in this sea of heat. They fixed on Ricky Goldsworth. And then, Tinsley turned away, racing up after Fear just as the flames blocked anyone from following them up. 

" _Tinsley!_ " Ricky lunged forward, as if to try and go through the fire and follow the detective up the stairs. Louise grabbed at him, grabbed at his arm and his shirt collar, hauling him back and away. " _Tinsley! Tinsley!_ " 

"Ricky, we have to go!" Louise's voice was choked from smoke, and something else entirely. "We can't do anything, we _have_ to go!" Cooper grabbed at Ricky, who was struggling fiercely, a feral animal trapped in the cage of his friends' arms. They half dragged, half carried him away, despite his protests, despite his efforts to get free, away from the raging fire, away from the Palazzo Vecchio, away from the one he wanted to follow. And all the while, all the way down, Ricky never stopped screaming C.C. Tinsley's name. 


	36. As The Noose Tightens

Tinsley's lungs burned, his head hurt, his body ached, his eyes swam. If he could, he would be kicking himself. For one, one of Europe's oldest monuments, certainly one of the most famous, was currently burning to the ground. For another, he should have used the gun earlier. He'd packed it, this weapon he'd found along with the incriminating ledger, on the off chance things went wrong and it was needed. And yet, when the time had arrived, Tinsley, like an absolute idiot, had gone for hand to hand combat. _What a fool_ , he thought bitterly to himself, trying to ignore the searing heat and catch up to Fear. 

There was, of course, a reason as to why he had been so reluctant to use the gun even when he'd needed to. Pulling out that gun, pointing it at his enemy, meant that a life was in his hands. And he would be back to the conundrum he'd first considered as he'd fled Fear's townhouse. If it came down to it, if he had the chance to end Fear's life, would he do it? If he was forced to confront the possibility that lethal force was the only way to end this war, would he let himself go to that place? Could he let himself go to that place? 

That burned Tinsley more than the smoke inhalation did. It ached more than his legs did as they followed the doctor, more than the developing bruises from the punches did. Keeping his eyes on Dr. Fear as he ran was taking more energy than he wanted it to, though it was to be expected given the ashes and sparks flying about, the flames licking the walls and the stairs behind them. In front of them too, Tinsley realized, coming to an abrupt halt. Fear did the same thing. They were on a platform, stone rather than wood **_(_** thank God, given their current circumstances **_)_** , trapped on all sides by fire and fury. Tinsley looked at Fear just long enough to see the doctor raise his arm, gun in hand. Tinsley ducked, waiting for the crack of the shot. 

It didn't come. 

Too much smoke, Tinsley realized with a sardonic smile. No doubt Fear wanted desperately to shoot him, but he couldn't. Tinsley was quick, and right now they were too far apart for Fear to get a clean shot. If their lives weren't at risk it would have been funny, funny enough to make Tinsley laugh. He didn't, however, just kept his head low and immediately barreled into Dr. Fear. Their teeth both clacked as they tumbled to the ground, one of Tinsley's hands forcing Fear's shoulder down into the stone, the other latching onto his wrist, trying to force the gun out. Fear, meanwhile, was fighting back, clawing and scratching, trying to regain enough control to pull the trigger. 

Tinsley pressed down on Fear's wrist bone, heard the whine as it began to crack under his pressure. Fear cried out in pain, his fingers loosening. The gun tumbled out of his grip, skittering on the floor. His enemy forgotten, Tinsley lunged towards it, determined to get the weapon back in his possession. He almost had it too. Just almost. 

A hand cracked across his face, sharp and full forced. Tinsley reeled from the blow, tasting blood in his mouth. He had no time to recover before a kick was delivered to his ribs, knocking him on his back and the air out of his lungs. He gasped raggedly, clutching at his side. Fear, meanwhile, straightened above him for a moment. His face was pale and sooty, the cut above his brow a vivid red in contrast. His eyes gleamed with unchecked rage as he bent down, dark gaze boring into Tinsley's blue. His hands came up to Tinsley's throat, soft and gentle as a lover. 

And then they wrapped tight around his windpipe, squeezing. Tinsley's spasmed, on his back, helpless, alone. He tried to pry Fear's grip off with his fingers, but it was too strong. The doctor leaned down close as Tinsley wheezed, trying to suck in whatever air he could. He squeezed harder. Sparks flew around them, one singing itself on the detective's cheek.

"You never would have won." His voice was low, triumphant. Tinsley fought desperately, scratching at Fear's hands. Fingers still clenched tight around his throat, Fear shook Tinsley. His head cracked against the stone. Disoriented, he felt his chest spasm as the flow of oxygen continued to be cut off. "You were right Charles Cecil Tinsley. You are good. You are so, so good. You bleed from the pain of it. I know you're type. You want to save the world, you want to make it a better place. You're," squeeze, "so," squeeze, "good!" Tinsley felt his eyes begin to roll back in his head. He was too weak to try and pry Fear's hands off now. "But good is soft, Tinsley. Good is feathers, silk, the light of God. You're too soft, Tinsley." The detective abandoned any attempts to fight Fear off, his twitching hands now groping around for something he could use as a weapon. He was feeling lightheaded. "Evil..." Fear's voice was contemplative. "Evil is like fire, Tinsley. It destroys everything in its path, mercilessly, without feeling." Fear laughed here, sharp and loud. It sounded watery and far away to the detective. He felt the edges of his vision blur and then darken. He didn't have much time left before he drifted into unconsciousness, and then death, as Fear choked the life out of him, gloating all the while. "And that's why you could never beat me. Fire melts ice." 

Tinsley's wandering fingers closed around something. A piece of plywood, somehow still unburnt, left abandoned by the restoration workers. " _Water..._ " he rasped, using what little oxygen he had left for that one last word, possibly the final one he would ever speak. Fear's grip slackened just ever so slightly in confusion. It was all the opportunity Tinsley needed. 

"What?" 

Tinsley took the plywood in a viselike grip, and swung, smashing it into the side of Fear's skull. He fell with a yell of rage and pain, his hands sliding off Tinsley's neck. Coughing and sucking in gasps of smoky air, Tinsley managed to kneel, and then rock himself to a kneeling position. Fear was disoriented on the ground, a heavy flow of blood where Tinsley had hit him. 

"Water quenches fire," he finished, his voice terrible and ragged. Eyes watering and burning, Tinsley looked about, searching for the gun. He lay eyes on it just as the same time as Fear did. They both moved at the same time, fingers desperate and reaching. Whoever got it would have the upper hand in their increasingly deadly battle. 

Tinsley was just the slightest bit closer to it than Dr. Fear, his limbs the slightest bit longer. 

His fingers closed around the handle of the gun, and he jerked it to him, finger immediately on the trigger as he whirled around, on his back, staining himself with the soot from the ground, pointing the muzzle directly at Fear's unexpecting face. He froze, cruel and dark eyes wide. Slowly, Tinsley manage to stagger to a stand, gun still trained on Fear. The doctor did the same, wary gaze not leaving the gun, and slowly raised his hand in defeat. 

"I surrender." He said it mockingly, bitterly. Tinsley tightened his finger on the trigger. This man, this vile man, had caused so much suffering, to people he barely knew to people he knew very well to people he loved. And now, he was at his mercy. 

"Do you?" There was a dark quality to Tinsley's voice that hadn't existed back in January, when he'd first taken this case. Something had changed in him since then, something growing, black and twisted, bringing an edge of shadow to a bright soul. But it was, after all, only an edge. Fear raised his eyes to stare into Tinsley's. They were standing on the edge of a precipice, a perilous one, both figuratively and literally. 

"Are you going to shoot me?" Fear's voice was disbelieving. He was confident in the outcome. He didn't think Tinsley could do it. 

"Why not?" the detective asked. "You kidnapped innocent children. You set fire to their home. You put their parents through hell. You blackmailed and kidnapped Louise. You corrupted her brother. You shot Ricky and left him for dead. You've tried to kill me!" Tinsley's voice raised slightly, and the hand holding the gun shook ever so slightly. "Killing you would make the world a better place. I'd be doing the human race a kindness." 

"Oh, you're all about kindness." And even though he was at gunpoint, surrounded by flames, beaten and bloodied and bruised and broken and defeated, Fear still smirked that sardonic smirk, still spoke in that contemptuous whisper, just barely heard above the roar of the fire. "And that's why you won't do it. Like I said, you're good. Fundamentally, to your core. You wouldn't kill an unarmed, defenseless man in cold blood. That's not what heroes do." He took a step forward. Tinsley did not take a step back. "You're a hero, C.C. Tinsley." There was no inflection as he said it; he was stating a fact as plain as he would state the color of the sky. "You won't pull the trigger." 

The silence stretched on, thick and weighty, unbroken. All they could hear were the sounds of the fire. And maybe Tinsley was imagining it, but could he hear his name? Was someone outside calling his name? Disoriented, shaking, at the end of his rope, Tinsley grappled with his choices, with what he could do, should do, and must do. The decision made itself for him, with shocking ease. 

He lowered the gun, just slightly. No longer was the muzzle pointing directly between Fear's pitiless eyes, it was now at the hollow of his throat. For one second, one brief, solitary second, it looked as if Fear was right. Tinsley wouldn't do it; he couldn't do it. He was not only on the side of the angels, he was an angel himself; he wouldn't defy what his own morality mandate he do. Tinsley's eyes moved from the gun to Fear's gaze. They looked at each other in that second, Fear expectant, Tinsley blank and expressionless. It would be one of the last looks they would ever share. 

He squeezed the trigger. The bullet shot out, and embedded itself into Fear's throat. There had been no hesitation, no unsteadiness in Tinsley's shot. His aim was true. Blood spurted from the bullet wound, thick and red and pumping. Fear made a choking sound, his hands coming up to clamp at his neck, to stem the flow of blood. They were quickly soaked in crimson. He gargled helplessly, sticky choking sounds emanating from his mouth as the blood continued to flow, staining his front, his fingers, the ground beneath him. It bubbled to his mouth, dribbled down his chin to mix with the rest, sticky and red and horrific. He stared at Tinsley, eyes terrified, petrified. He was bleeding out. He would die in fear and in excruciating pain as his heart pumped his salvation away, growing weaker and weaker. And he would die with one last thought on his mind: _Tinsley had won._

And he did just that. The torrent of blood began to slow, and Fear's eyes rolled back in his head as his lids fluttered shut. He fell to his knees, and then collapsed on the ground, slack hands falling away as his heart finally stopped. One last gurgle, a death rattle clogged with gore, and he was still. He was gone. He was dead.

_Tinsley had won._

He came to that realization soon after the now dead Dr. Fear did. With a choked sob, Tinsley dropped the gun. It clanged on the ground and skittered away from him, towards Fear's still, bloody fingers. Tinsley crashed to his knees, breathing heavy, eyes fixed on the ground. It had come down to it. He'd had his chance, and he had taken it. There was no more maybe, like there had been that afternoon outside the townhouse, or even earlier tonight as he'd clambered up the stairs. He had taken that extra step. Tinsley had been presented with one clear option, and he had latched onto it with the desperation of a drowning man. He had subverted the expectations of good. He had pulled the trigger. 

And now it was his turn to die. There would be no escaping the Palazzo Vecchio; there would be no escaping this fire. The flames were all around him, on each side, above and below. There was no way he could find a way to get free, to join Cooper and Louise and the Sodder children and Ricky outside in the fresh air. There was no way he could escape his fate. 

The heat seared him; the ashes coated him, the smoke raked its claws along his lungs. He could feel the full weight of everything that had happened tonight, every near death miss, every close call, every blow, every inhalation of deadly fumes, looming over him now. Tinsley didn't have much time. He didn't have any time left at all. Eyes watering, either from the heat or something else entirely, Tinsley fluttered his lashes shut. 

His life came to him in snapshots of sights and sounds and feelings. He felt the dry kiss of his mother's lips against his hair. He saw the inside of his apartment when he'd first gotten it, back when it had been newer and he had been younger. He felt the tentative kiss of the first man he'd ever been with. He saw the eyes of every person he had ever helped, ever saved. He felt the firm grip of Cooper's handshake. He saw the delicate shrug of Louise's shoulder, dark hair fanning out prettily as she did so. And most of all, there was Ricky. He saw Ricky; he heard Ricky; he felt Ricky. Every exchange, every touch, every kiss, every word.

One moment, clear as crystal: the feeling of Ricky's hand in his. When, he wasn't sure, but he felt it, the dry, warm palm, the gentle press of fingers, the reassuring touch, the way his thumb stroked along Tinsley's as their hands interlocked. The way it made Tinsley's cheeks flush, the way it made his heart expand, the way it made him feel night invulnerable. Had it been love? Had he and Ricky been in love? Yes. Tinsley answered his own question with absolute certainty, with clarity. Yes, he had loved Ricardo Goldsworth. Yes, it had been love.

That was the last thought Charles Cecil Tinsley had before darkness overtook him and he crumpled to the ground. 


	37. Bittersweet Symphony

It had fallen to Cooper to call the authorities. Out of all of them, lawyer and bar owner and children, he was the only one who had anything that could possibly resemble fluency in Italian, even if it wasn't all that much. Still, he managed to get his message across, and eventually, the whole of the city seemed to converged on them. The police, gathering the details of how the missing children from America had been found here. Medical personnel, to check both victims and saviors for any wounds or health problems. Fire fighters, trying their best to beat back a blaze that was besting them. And onlookers, casual Florentines, drawn by the chaos. And, in the center, them. 

There were the Sodder children, relieved to be free, relieved to be together, relieved to be going home. There was Cooper, stoic and professional, giving the rundown of the situation to everyone he was supposed to give it to. There was Louise, alternating between talks with authorities and checkups on the children. And there was Ricky, a ways off, numb and silent, doing nothing but staring at the leaping flames, the raging fire of the Palazzo Vecchio. The only thing that moved were his hands; they hadn't stopped shaking since he'd stumbled out into the cold night air, almost knocking himself to the ground in the process, hauled away from the inferno by Cooper and Louise. 

He had tried to go back, at first. He had tried his hardest. But, as Cooper went with the children to get help, Louise had refused to let him anywhere near the Palazzo Vecchio, threatening to inflict bodily harm if he tried. She would rather physically assault him than let him rush headlong into an inferno, and he had better not test that. At first, Ricky was livid. Were they really so cowardly they were going to leave one of their own in a burning building? Would they really leave their friend to die? The thought made Ricky gag. But then the flames grew. And they grew and they grew and they grew, so much so that even the firefighters were standing around, hapless and helpless. 

Ricky stared. He stared at the fire, as it climbed higher and higher, engulfing the Palazzo Vecchio. He didn't help; he didn't hinder. He just stood there, separate from the ever growing crowd, separate from his friends, watching. It was the only thing he could do, the glow of the flames reflecting back on his skin, in his dark eyes.

He heard a scuff of feet on the ground, drawing closer to him, and a slight throat clearing. Feminine. Ricky did nothing as Louise drew nearer to his side. In his peripheral vision, he saw her, arms crossed over her chest, looking not at the burning monument but at him. He wasn't looking close enough to tell what expression was in her eyes, though he could guess. A variety of emotions were there most likely, all of them tinged with pity. 

"He could be OK." She wasn't saying it to be cruel; just the opposite, she was being kind, giving him hope. But still, a shudder ran through Ricky's body, and he felt his jaw clench. "He could have..." Louise groped for words, no doubt trying to come up with a plausible theory for what had happened since they'd seen Tinsley pursue the fleeing Dr. Fear, a theory that ended with his survival.

"No." Ricky's voice was low, toneless. In his periphery, he saw Louise turn more to him, not even facing the fire anymore. 

"Ricky, he could have found a way out." 

"No." 

"Ricky, he _could_ have-"

" _No!_ " He wasn't shouting, but he was very close to that decibel volume. Ricky finally wrenched himself away from the flame drenched sight to look at Louise. His eyes were stinging, his vision ever so slightly blurry. "He couldn't have found a way out, or he would be here, with us. With me." His voice was at that dangerous place where, if he wasn't careful, it wouldn't just crack, but shatter entirely. His shaking hands balled into fists, nails digging into the flesh. "He's still in there." 

"That doesn't mean he's..." Louise bit down hard on her bottom lip. She couldn't bare to say it. Ricky understood. He himself had barely been able to think it. But this was the real world, and that meant he would have to reconcile himself with it. Soon, or maybe even now. 

"It does. If he's in there, then he's gone," Ricky's voice wavered, "because no one can survive that long in a fire so intense not even the people paid to fight said fire are daring to enter the building." He flung a hand out at the crowd, whose various noises seemed watery and far away. He could feel himself spiraling, and fought to regain stable ground. "It's impossible." Louise was silent for a moment, worrying her lip between her teeth. Ricky wanted to reach out and force her to stop, worried she would make herself bleed. But it seemed as if the tiny physical actions he'd already done had drained him of energy. His feelings were consuming him both literally and physically, apparently. 

"You know we couldn't go back." They looked at each other, dark on dark, Louise pleading for him to understand her side of things. "We _had_ to leave him there, or we would all be dead, and who knows what would have happened to the Sodder children." Ricky nodded. 

"I know." His earlier rage at being unable to charge back into the fray to rescue his detective had dissipated into the cold night air, gathering itself in the sky along with the clouds that blotted out the stars. He knew it would have been foolhardy, and were he in a sounder frame of mind at the moment, he would thank Louise and Cooper for stopping him from killing himself. Louise offered him a smile so minuscule that it barely counted as any expression at all. 

"That doesn't mean there's no hope for him," she said comfortingly. Ricky scoffed, turning away from her. He uncurled his fists, staring at the red grooves his nails had made in his skin. They stung in the cold. He crossed his arms over his chest, wrapped tightly around him, as if he were trying to mimic human touch. Maybe he was. Maybe he was trying to imitate a very specific human touch, while the memory was still fresh in his mind. 

"If the smoke inhalation hasn't killed him, the third degree burns will have done that by now." He almost sucked in a gasp at his own callousness. But it was the only way. Either he was cold, or he would break into a thousand pieces. He had to treat this as if it were just another person, just another random tragedy, or he would fall apart. And he couldn't afford to fall apart, not until he was alone and no one could hear him or bother him if he sobbed until the early hours of the morning. "Tinsley is dead." Ricky felt a low moan build up in his throat as he finally confronted that awful truth, and forced it back down. _Later. Hold it together for now. You can let go later._

"Ricky..." It wasn't often one could leave a lawyer at a loss for words. In any other circumstances, it would have been a source of amusement for Ricky Goldsworth.

"He saved those children." Ricky's voice was rough, desperate, savage almost in its intensity. "He was a fucking hero." He didn't Louise to agree with him. He did, he knew she did, and even if she didn't, that was fine. He knew that Tinsley was a hero. That was all that would be needed. Ricky stared at the fire, but it was blurred, nothing more than blotches of red and orange and yellow against a smudge of darkness. He refused to stop, refused to even blink, even as he felt his cheeks grow wet. 

Louise had nothing to say, no argument. How could she? His logic was sound. Ricky expected her to leave him then, leave him to his devices and his silent tears. It's what he would have expected almost anyone else to do. No one wanted to stick by a person grieving for a loved one. Because that was exactly what Ricky was doing, wasn't it? He had loved Tinsley, even if he had never managed to choke the words out, and he knew Tinsley had loved him. Whatever he had felt for Artemus Ogletree, both before and after his death, whatever he had felt for anyone he had ever been with, man or woman, paled in comparison to what he felt with Tinsley. They were nothing compared to Tinsley. And so, here he was, grieving, soon to be alone. 

He saw Louise's hand lift, hesitant at first, and then sure. Ricky felt a touch, featherlight, the brush of angel wings, on his skin, the contact a comforting presence between his shoulder blades. He felt her fingers brush along for just a moment, before it fell away. And then, this time, her wordless sympathy and solace given, she left, her footfalls quiet against the stones of the Piazza as she returned to the Sodder children and Cooper. Ricky was alone, surrounded by hundreds. 

The sky, heavy with clouds, rumbled. At first, it was only a few pinpricks of water that dotted the ground, and Ricky barely registered it at first. And then, heavier, droplets and then drops and then a sheet, as if the skies themselves were weeping for C.C. Tinsley. Ricky did nothing even as the rain began to soak him through, his shivers now more from the cold than anything else. And still he stayed in that same spot, watching the flames hiss and sputter and smoke as the skies rained down on them, as The Lord did what humans could not, putting out this life taking fire. 

It is worth noting that, when the fire had finally run its course, when the Palazzo Vecchio was thoroughly destroyed, painstaking efforts were made to dig up the bodies of the two men the Americans had said had remained trapped in the burning building. And when they were finally uncovered, after many weeks of excavation, the charred human remains, the blackened bones buried beneath ash and soot and grime, were so burnt beyond recognition that it was impossible to tell how many people they had belonged to, let alone who was who, doctor or detective. 


	38. Six Months Later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are. 38 chapters, 220 pages, almost 100 thousand words, over 50 comments, 4 and a half months of work, and we've arrived at the conclusion of this long and twisted saga. I just want to give a heartfelt thank you to everyone who gave this story the time of day; everyone who subscribed and hit kudos and bookmarked and commented and sent me messages and drew fanart or even just told me you loved the story in my asks. You've all made this one of the most pleasant interactive writing experiences I've had, and I wouldn't change any of it for the world. Now, for a very special announcement about GP's future and what's coming next, check my blog ( **navree.tumblr.com** ) at noon Eastern Standard Time tomorrow!  
>  **EDIT:** announcement found here ( http://navree.tumblr.com/post/172897610748/before-i-get-into-this-i-do-want-to-once-again )

The weather was warmer now than it had been back in the throes of the Sodder investigation. It was summer, six months almost exactly to the day since Dr. Fear had set the Palazzo Vecchio ablaze, killing himself and C.C. Tinsley in the process. It seemed like an impossibly long time ago, a memory in someone else's life. The secretive nature of the entire investigation had made it so no public announcement of death had been made for either man. Ricky had organized a small memorial for Tinsley soon after they'd gotten back, with Louise and Cooper and Shane and Ryan and Selena and the Sodder family and even Don in attendance. No one knew whether the LCD had done the same thing for Fear; they most likely tossed him and his memory to the wayside, seeing as he'd failed in his mission on all fronts. They probably were just that callous. 

But that whole saga hadn't been someone else's memory, or a dream. It had all been real. Ricky had been there; he had seen it all. And while sometimes it felt blurry and bizarre, like some story he had invented to wile away the hours, other times it came to him with a crystal clarity. Other times it was so real that he almost buckled under the weight of it all, like he had in the early days after they'd come back from Florence. He had gotten better, as time had passed, but sometimes the crushing feelings came back to him. Less so now that six months had passed. Perhaps, with time, they would fade all together. Standing in front of Tinsley's old building for the first time in months, Ricky wasn't sure how he felt about that.

The Sodder children were back safely with their parents and their siblings, living in a new, more spacious apartment now that their children were all back, safe and sound. That was a good thing. Dr. Fear was dead. That was a good thing. D.B. Cooper was firmly keeping himself out of the criminal underworld, serving as an informant and proving himself invaluable to authorities. That was a good thing. And _Bobby Mackey's_ was officially changing names. That was a good thing. It was a good thing that Selena's friend, Francesca Norris, fashionable and beautiful, had been so willing to buy it up from Ricky. It was a good thing that Ricky was not there now, watching the sign be replaced, and was here instead. 

"Sorry I'm late." Ricky turned to where Louise was walking up to him, brushing dark hair out of her eyes. Apparently, her fair complexion was a permanent staple, and not just a product of cold winters as Ricky had previously thought. In the back of his mind, he wondered whether that had been the same for Tinsley, or whether he'd gotten a nice tan during the warmer seasons. He pushed the thought out of his mind. 

"It's no trouble," he said, waving an airy hand. "I know that you must be incredibly busy, what with your leading the polls in the DA race." Louise smiled almost bashfully, ducking her eyes. That had been a good thing too, her decision to run for the District Attorney's office in the wake of the previous DA's retirement and her own personal ambitions. She had Ricky's vote, in any case, and apparently that of many others. 

"Knock on wood." Ricky knocked on the door softly in response. "You know, I passed by _Ricky's_ on my way here." She stretched out the name slightly. "No regrets about selling to Francesca Norris?" He shook his head. 

"None," he answered assuredly. "I couldn't run a business and keep it profitable all while doing what I'm about to do. Selling to Francesca was the best option, and Selena swears by her. I trust that. And _Ricky's_ rolls really well off the tongue." Louise nodded with a huff of laugher. She crossed her arms over her chest, rolling her lips between her teeth. 

"And you're sure about this?" She cocked her head towards the apartment building. "About doing all of this? The Sodder case alone was dangerous enough." The _and deadly_ was implicit but remained unspoken. "Going after the entire LCD is gonna be a huge endeavor, and a risky one at that." Ricky sighed, running a hand through his hair. 

"I'm sure." There was a certainty in his voice to back up his words. "The Sodder case was just the beginning. Fear was just the tip of the iceberg. They're a multinational organization with vast spheres of influence. We cut off one Hydra head, but how soon until two more grow back in its place?" He shuddered at the thought. "I want to end it. I have to end it. I'm going to dismantle all of it, tear it to shreds, render their might to nothing but dust." 

"And becoming a private investigator is the best way to do that?" 

"It's my only option." Ricky wouldn't back down from this. He lifted his chin, spine made of iron. Louise gazed back at him evenly. "You don't have to be a part of this, you know." His tone was softer here. "You can always back out. No pressure." Louise raised an eyebrow. 

"Absolutely not," she responded firmly. "I'm all in. Whenever you need my help on this, I'll be there." Ricky resisted the urge to reach out and hug her out of sheer gratitude. He had a feeling that might be awkward. It wasn't the first time Louise had pledged her support in this fight; she'd been willing to partake in it since he'd broached the topic months ago. But that didn't mean her words weren't still nice to hear. Louise's eyes softened, and she touched Ricky's arm gently, gaze flicking to the building. "Do you...need a minute before we go in?" Ricky glanced up, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth wondering if he could pick out the apartment window from here. He doubted it. 

"I'm good," he said. 

"OK." Her response was quiet, and the two of them were silent as they entered the building, and climbed up the stairs until they got to the apartment that had doubled as C.C. Tinsley's home and office. Ricky took out his key, but hesitated for a moment, hand hovering in the air between his pocket and the doorknob. He took a breath, steeling himself. His hand shook only slightly as he put the key into the lock and twisted his wrist, hearing the click as the door unlocked. Louise stood behind him, almost in respectful deference, as he pushed the door open, becoming the first person to step foot in the apartment since Cooper had come in to grab the LCD files following the car chase on the way back from the ashes of the first Sodder home. 

The room had that cold, dry feel of all rooms that had not been inhabited for quite some time. Everything was covered in a fine layer of dust, and the air smelled stale. What knocked the wind out of Ricky's lungs, if only for a moment, was that everything looked exactly the same as he remembered it. There were miscellaneous papers strewn about, reading glasses thrown haphazardly on the desk, the chair behind the desk slightly askew. Ricky even spotted one of his coats on the coatrack. Ricky shook himself out of his memories, forcing his shoulders back as he stepped further into the room, the room he had broken into so long ago, the room where everything had started. He heard the quiet click of the latch as Louise entered and closed the door behind him. 

"Let's get to work." Ricky said this simply, factually, without inflection or emotion, a pure statement of intent, sitting down in the rolling chair as he did so. It felt like a homecoming of sorts. Louise glanced around, before her gaze lighted on the window, the shades drawn just as they had always been. She strode over to it purposefully, and with one yank of the cord, sent them rolling up. Sunlight flooded the apartment, so suddenly it was as if a switch had been flipped. They both stayed silent for a moment, basking in the glow and the warmth. 

"Why did he always keep this down?" Louise wondered, dragging her finger along the edge of the window. Ricky stood and went over to stand by her. He was not looking down at the passersby, but up at the sky. It was a clear, even blue, that rich blue color of the afternoon that Ricky could never accurately describe, the one that made him think of warmth and gemstones and promises. There wasn't a cloud in sight, just the sun and the sky and the buildings. Ricky closed his eyes for a moment, soaking it all in. Finally, he opened them, heaving a deep sigh. 

"You remember the alley across the street?" he asked, finally addressing Louise's question. 

"The one where I punched Fear and where you got shot?" Ricky smiled to himself, and knew that Louise was doing the same, even if he wasn't looking at her. 

"That very same one." Again, he paused. He could hear Tinsley's voice in his head, his explanation to the question Louise had asked, one Ricky himself had asked after a few days of staying over at his place. "He told me that, apparently, someone standing in that alley, if they knew where this window was, could look up at it and see into this room. He kept the shades down so that nothing would come of it." Louise hummed to herself. Ricky glanced up at the sky again, taking in the vibrant color of it. And then, he turned away, away from his reveries, back to Louise and all that he had to do to make the LCD disappear into the sands of time. 

Of course, if Ricky, back when he'd first asked, had pressed Tinsley further, Tinsley would likely have also told him that someone standing at that window could look down and see the alley across the street, spot anyone doing anything in there with relative ease. It was one of the things Tinsley had regretted not doing more of, especially following the shooting incident with Dr. Fear. So, if Ricky had looked down rather than up, at any point, he could have looked directly into that alley. 

He could have looked, and he could have seen that someone was watching him. Not moving, not blinking, almost not even breathing. Just doing nothing but watching him in the window, as if trying to memorize every detail of Ricardo Goldsworth's face that he could see from there, even if it was a someone disadvantage vantage point. If Ricky had looked down, he would have noticed that the watcher was wearing a beige trench coat, despite the heat, hands shoved deep into his pockets, leaning against the brick wall. He would have noticed that the watcher was also wearing a hat, a hat that hid his feathery blond hair, a hat pulled low over his robin's egg blue eyes. 

He wouldn't have noticed that the watcher's heart had constricted the minute he had seen Ricky in the window, that the watcher breathed a sigh of simultaneous grief and relief as Ricky had turned away without noticing him. It was better this way, safer. For now it was, at least. The watcher's face was set in a familiar, determined expression, and he straightened. His path was clear, his purpose singleminded. If Ricky turned away from the desk and his mission, and looked out the window and down at the alley right this second, he would have just enough time to see the tails of the beige trench coat snap and disappear around the corner, vanishing behind the brick, the beginning of a long and twisting quest. 

But Ricky didn't turn around. Just as the watcher turned away from him, for his own protection and his own desire to seek justice, Ricky held his back to the watcher, doing his own work and seeking his own brand of justice. And the world went on.


End file.
